


Broken Souls

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Magic, Original Character(s), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the events of Dragon Age 2, predominantly from the P.O.V. of Anders and Justice. Both man and spirit are torn between wanting to force change in the world for the betterment of all, and protecting a woman from their past in Amaranthine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about as a result of a number of ideas that were swirling around in my head after my first playthrough of DA2. Predominantly, a lot of questions I had about magic and the nature of magic in Thedas that were already brewing after Origins and Awakening were only partially answered through the game, and in a lot of cases it simply got more confusing. Case in point- if you sift through the lore, in the numerous places you can dig it up, there are at least four different origin stories for magic. That is, four stories that claim to be the truth of how humans came to possess and wield magic. Now, I don't think this is lazy story telling at all- I think this is an accurate portrayal of an event that can't be pinpointed that occured thousands of years in the past. It would be like trying to work out who was the first person to create art. It can't be done.
> 
> But magic is so complex, and so confusing. What are other races like the Chasind and the Avvar using, if they don't believe their gifts came from the Maker? What are Templars using, if not a bastardised form of magic? The list goes on.
> 
> In an attempt to reconcile all these different theories, I started to write. And it turned into a story.
> 
> At this point, the story sits at nearly 70 chapters. It is a leviathan, a monstrous creature larger than I ever anticipated. I'm still enjoying myself though. ^_^ Every chapter will make it on here eventually from other locations around the interwebz.

The stench of rot and evil was overpowering and Anders gagged as he stooped to follow Mariken through the cavern opening. He bit his tongue at the little niggle of panic that always reared its ugly head whenever he was reluctantly dragged underground; the weight of the earth over his head always seemed to press down physically on him, the air itself heavy and oppressive. But he had a duty, an obligation to the woman who had saved him so many months earlier. Even if she wasn’t beside him at that moment, he owed it to her to grit his teeth and pretend he wasn’t about to curl up into a babbling, hysterical ball of mage angst against the cavern wall.

She would have laughed at that image, he was sure of it. She would have laughed, and then she would have knelt beside him and pulled him to his feet, a gentle smile on her face and mischief in her eyes as she pointed out he was more of a scaredy-cat than his actually cat. That much he’d learned from her- that Grey Wardens were _not_ infallible, nor were they all knowing, unstoppable battle juggernauts as they would have the outside world believe and that was perfectly alright. If one went by the precedent that Commander Tabris had set, then Wardens were foul mouthed, snarky, irrepressible little tyrants with no tolerance of fools, a wicked sense of humour and a crippling fear of open spaces. He and Oghren liked to tease her about that, the elf with a fear of the horizon.

He grinned to himself when he realised he was well inside the tunnel, following the vague shadow that was Mariken’s outline in the darkness. Apparently vaguely inappropriate thoughts about his commanding officer were enough to keep the panic at bay and he tried to keep the fear at an arm’s length as he surveyed the cavern. The Warden scouts had reported evidence of a heavy darkspawn presence in the area; judging by the smell, they weren’t half wrong.

“Maker that’s an unpleasant stench,” said Rolan, bringing up the rear. “Smells a bit like the commons after Oghren has run a drinking contest.” He laughed heartily at his own wit, and Anders resisted the urge to sneer. The cave was dark, but not quite dark enough for him to get away with it. If the ex-Templar caught him mocking him, at the very least he’d be patching up his own split lip later on.

“Enough with the chatter, Warden,” Denril said, appearing from the darkness up ahead. The Orlesian Warden Captain had about as much patience for Rolan’s self-importance that Anders did. It was the one and only thing that he and the captain had in common. “We’ve got a large nest to deal with, and I’d rather they didn’t hear you prattling away hours before we get to them.”

Rolan’s mouth snapped shut with an audible crack. It almost made Anders chuckle to see the idiot put in his place- almost. It was the only amusement he got these days.

He glanced around the cavern instead, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hide his satisfaction at Rolan’s chastisement and knowing what the result of that would be. The stupid git would be unlikely to leave him alone for weeks, lurking in the corridor outside his room, following him to the mess hall, making excuses to be in the same place as him at all times. It was as humiliating as it was infuriating, and the last thing he wanted to do was encourage the bastard to redouble his efforts. Knowing his luck, he’d wake up in the night to find him looming over him like some deranged watchman.

The cavern bore the tell-tale signs of darkspawn, from the scratch marks in the stone from claws and jagged weapons, to the spindly vein-like creepers across the floors and ground, to the appalling stench of rotted meat and death that was so thick it was like breathing in soup.

“Report, Mariken,” Denril said, swinging his longbow over his head again; Anders had never considered Orlesians to be particularly terrifying warriors until Weisshaupt had sent Denril to play second to Commander Tabris. The archer loomed over him by a good few inches, and even Nathaniel had struggled the first time he’d tried to draw the Captain’s longbow. Anders was convinced that Denril didn’t have any other facial expressions except ‘ _scowl_ ’ and ‘ _scowl harder_ ’; he made Varel look positively chipper by comparison. “Is this a breeding lair?”

The tiny blonde rogue straightened at being addressed by the Captain. “No sign of a Broodmother,” she said briskly, although she seemed to shudder at the mention, “and no pods that I could see, so no larvae. Looks like it’s just a nest come up recently from the depths. They’re not well armed, weapons and armour looked dated. Maybe eighty, a hundred years old? They’ll be brittle in these conditions- shouldn’t be too difficult.”

The Captain nodded, her information apparently corresponding with his own sweep. “Lead the way, Warden,” Denril said, gesturing the rogue to go on ahead. Mariken was a new addition to the Wardens, less than three weeks into her service. She was a rather brittle young thing, Anders had found, and she wasn’t at all responsive to his jokes about blondes and sex and belly buttons. A shame really- she was cute. However, despite having a sense of humour even worse than Rolan, she was at least a decent Warden. She was one of the only sane things to come out of Haven in the far west, the fanatical town that had safe guarded the Ashes of Andraste for centuries. Determined not to be swept up in the madness that ruled the town, Mariken had become an excellent tracker- after all, anyone who spent their youth creeping through the forest to hide from their family tended to develop a talent for it.

She nodded to Denril and slipped into the darkness ahead, her boots making only the slightest whisper against the stone. The Captain turned to them. “Rolan, you take second. Anders, follow him and I’ll take the rear.”

They fell into the routine of an extermination sweep, descending quickly through the dank tunnels and closer towards the stench of decay. The few darkspawn they encountered were despatched quickly and ruthlessly, the rot and the smell and the sensation that they were walking on something sticky growing worse and worse the deeper they wound into the earth. It was unpleasantly dark, and the air was damp and cloying; at Denril’s request, Anders conjured a wisp light to guide their feet and he managed to stop himself from audibly shuddering in relief. The darkness and the damp and the awful, looming weight of the ceiling above him… _Maker_ , he could have sworn the walls were closing in on him.

The last thing he needed was to give Rolan more things to torment him with.

They’d been climbing steadily downwards for about half an hour when Mariken crept back into view and stopped them all abruptly, signalling with a number of hand gestures what they faced in the next chamber. Not that she really needed to explain in detail- Anders could already feel the pull in his tainted blood, like a hook lodged in his pulse points and dragging him to face the direction of the threat. He could hear the hissing and the creaking, shifting of armour, the slither of leathery skin on stone. His skin crawled at the occasional rasping growl, his brain leaping forward to try and understand… before he remembered that not all darkspawn talked, and they certainly shouldn’t now. Not after that horrific encounter up at Drake’s Fall two months back.

Mariken’s hands flew in the dim light; suddenly aware of the potential for discovery, Anders dimmed the light as much as possible, gritting his teeth as the darkness crept in closer again. Denril was frowning, and Anders realised it was probably a good idea for him to have paid attention to what the blonde rogue was signing. He stared at her hands, trying to recognise the shapes she was making- nearly two dozen darkspawn, including an ogre. Her hands flew faster and he blinked as he felt certain she had signed incorrectly, or that he just couldn’t keep up with her talk. Thankfully he was not the only one perplexed by her signs, because Denril signed for her to confirm her report a second time. Mariken made the same gesture again.

 _The darkspawn have a prisoner._

There was a moment of hesitation, and even Rolan frowned slightly, the creases on his forehead seeming more sinister than normal in the shadowed tunnel. Denril nodded curtly and signed in return.

Is she alive?

While it was not unheard of for darkspawn to take male prisoners, the threat against females was so much more immediate and horrifying. And if this was indeed a nest newly ascended from the depths of the earth, the need to hunt for a female to corrupt would be their driving motivation. Anders shuddered to think of what the poor woman must have been through; assuming Mariken hadn’t just spotted a dead body. He almost wished for the prisoner’s sake that she was already dead, that she hadn’t survived the brutal torture- if she was still alive, and it was within reason to rescue her instead of doing the merciful thing and killing her, she would carry the trauma within her for the rest of her life. He didn’t have to be a healer to know that.

He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it; so close to the nest, the smell was overwhelmingly disgusting. Denril made the signal to move, and Anders hefted his staff and dashed in behind Rolan and Mariken.

The battle was surprisingly short but bloody. A great many of the darkspawn had been napping, or whatever it was that those disgusting creatures did to rest, and as such were easy fodder in the first wave of their attack. Anders took advantage of the moment to throw out a Mind Blast, and Mariken darted in and out of the stunned creatures, her twin blades hacking and slaying with an almost musical ease. Rolan ran straight at the ogre, and when the stupid fool got himself caught in the beast’s paw, Anders was almost prepared to look the other way and pretend to be too busy fighting. Sadly, Denril loosed an arrow straight into the ogre’s eye; with a bellow the creature staggered backwards, dropping Rolan in the process. The idiot leapt straight back into the fray, slashing at the tendons on the back of the ogre’s legs until it toppled over and proved easy prey for his greatsword.

Within minutes it was over, and they all stood panting for air and wiping gore from their faces. Anders leant against his staff and looked about at the carnage, the scene lit only by the guttering flames of a dying fire. “A larger nest than normal,” he said, to no one in particular. No one usually paid attention to him anyway.

Denril slid his bow back into place next to his quiver and glanced about the dark cavern. “You said there was a prisoner, Mariken? I do not see anyone.” His formality in such a macabre setting was unsettling, to say the least.

“Over here,” she called from the far side of the space; the tremor in her voice couldn’t be hidden. She struck a flare and threw it onto the ground, throwing magical light across the gory scene. Mariken was kneeling beside a bloodied figure, a woman, who was bound by her hands above her head. Her head was slumped forward onto her chest and she had just enough slack in the chains to kneel, rather than to stand. She was naked, maimed and bruised, with blood coating her body- although how much of the blood was hers and how much was darkspawn remained to be seen. “Anders, come quickly! She’s still alive.”

He ran across the cave, darting between the bodies of the dead darkspawn. He slid to a halt beside Mariken just as she cut the woman down; Anders caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. The moment he touched her she moaned softly; the sound caught him off guard and he glanced at her face. Not just alive, but partially conscious- that was a good sign. He brushed her dark hair out of her eyes and stared for a moment; her features were exquisitely pretty beneath the blood and the evidence of torture, a realisation that caught him by surprise. He had to force himself to look away from her, appalled at himself for latching onto such thoughts so quickly. Inappropriate thoughts about a patient were bad enough; worse still when she looked close to death and had suffered only Maker knew what in the last few days.

He could feel the pull in her blood, the answering dissonance to the song that sang in his veins. “She’s got the taint, but she’s not corrupted beyond hope,” he said, running a wisp of mana through her body to check for injuries. He winced in uncomfortable sympathy as his gift carried back an ugly story. “A couple of broken bones, some internal bleeding. It’s nothing I can’t fix if you give me a minute.”

“Is she worth saving?” Denril said, standing over his shoulder. The Captain sounded grim and even more taciturn than normal. “She may be too far gone for your efforts to mean anything.”

There was a snort of derision from behind them. “Commander said they turn women into broodmothers,” Rolan said, crossing his chest with the sign of the Maker. “What if we get her back to the surface only for her to sprout hundreds of tentacles and try to eat us?”

 _Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._ The Commander had taught him the rhyme, after she’d thrown up in Kal’Hirol once the nest of the beasts had been destroyed. If he’d thought the creatures themselves were nightmarish, hearing their origins explained had sickened him. However he was a healer first and foremost and the woman in his arms felt no more tainted than any of his companions from his cursory check. Anders tightened his grip on the abused woman, suddenly furious with Rolan for even suggesting that she could turn against them. Did he not see how frail and broken she was? “I’ve seen a real broodmother, Rolan, and I’ve seen corruption. See, I actually do things as a Warden, unlike some others I could-”

“Warden,” Denril said warningly.

Anders bit his tongue. “She is not a risk, ser. I will not leave someone to die when it is within my capacity to save them. If she turns out to be too unstable, then fine. But I will do my best to save her first.”

The tension in his grip must have roused her from whatever place she had fled to in order to escape her torture. Half-conscious became fully conscious as she stirred in his arms; she murmured softly, the sound full of pain- and the words utterly alien to him. He blinked and looked up. “Did anyone catch what she said?”

The bewilderment and suspicion on his comrades’ faces said what they did not. They had indeed heard her words, and none of them had understood them. Denril was Orlesian, and spoke the language of the Anderfels fairly fluently as well. Mariken knew a smattering of languages from the various Avvar clans she’d encountered in the Frostbacks, and Anders knew enough Arcanum to recognise the structure of the words… but nobody had the flair of recognition in their eyes. The woman groaned, terrified and tortured and spoke again. Again, her words were strange but distinct, in no tongue that was recognisable to him.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, drawing her up onto his lap. She whimpered and tried to grab hold of his wrist, her hand seizing as if in pain. Her took her fingers in his, running soothing fingers across the back of her hand and sending a little wisp of mana into her skin. He felt the muscles relax beneath his touch and he repeated the question, hoping he’d roused her enough to try and converse. As if by great effort, she slowly opened her eyes and stared about, her gaze coming to rest on his face. Her pupils were dilated with agony but she still managed to focus on his features; he was stunned to see shock and recognition pass over her expression, and she tore her shaking hand away from his and reached for his cheek.

“ _Anders?_ ” she whispered incredulously, his name twisted as she forced the word past dry, cracked lips. Her fingers brushed against his skin, a feather light touch that seemed far too intimate for the macabre setting.

“She said his name?” Rolan made an already inane question sound even more foolish. “She said his name. I’m not hearing things. She knows him. Who is she, Anders?”

Anders could not tear his eyes away from hers. Transfixed was the wrong word for what was gripping him right then; it was far too mundane for what flooded through him. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know who she is; I’ve never met her before.”

“But she knows him!” The Templar was surely hankering for a swift kick in the teeth. “We all heard it. Why does the apostate know a woman in a darkspawn lair?”

“She does seem to recognise you, Anders,” Denril said, his tone anything but comforting. Bloody Maker, as if he needed to give them another reason to be suspicious of him! As if having his own private Templar wasn’t bad enough…“Are you sure you don’t know who she is?”

“Of course I’m bloody sure!” he snapped, tensing when she whimpered at his harsh tone. He ran a soothing hand down the side of her face. “Can you understand me, sweetheart? What’s your name?”

“Anders,” she moaned, tears spilling onto her cheeks. She broke out into a stream of what sounded like gibberish, at least to him. When he stared at her blankly she closed her eyes and buried her face against his chest, weeping and murmuring in her alien tongue.

He saw Mariken tense before he felt the pull himself. “There’s more darkspawn coming up from below,” she said, cocking her head to the side as if she were listening. “They are maybe ten minutes away, at most. A larger group too. We should hurry and decide whether to kill her or not.”

The woman in his arms moaned and clung to him, wailing incoherently. She drew back from his chest, tears streaking through the grime on her face, and whispered, “ _Don’t let them take me._ ”

Anders stared at her, even more perplexed than before. She had no trace of an accent, nothing to suggest she wasn’t a normal Fereldan- and yet apart from his name, those were the first words he could understand. What other language could she possibly have been speaking?

“Heal her and be done with it, Warden,” Denril said, his tone impatient. It didn’t seem that he had heard her whispered plea. Instead he gestured to Rolan. “And give the girl your coat, man.”

Again, Anders resisted the urge to smirk as Rolan whined while removing his outer garment. All four of them were wearing some kind of cloak, so any one of them could have surrendered a piece of clothing to cover her; it was seemingly as amusing to Denril to hear the Templar whinge like a scolded child as it was to him.

He turned back to the woman in his arms as she stared up at him with huge, tear-filled eyes. His stomach lurched at the sight, and he mentally shook himself. Now was not the time to get distracted, not with more darkspawn approaching and suspicious Wardens looking on… even if the distraction in question was disarmingly pretty and utterly intriguing. She stared at him with complete certainty in her watery gaze. Whoever she was, she was unreservedly convinced that she knew him. Which was quite unnerving, if he had to be honest.

He gathered his will and sent his healing gift into her body; she shivered and drew closer to him as the magic began to work inside her. She never broke eye contact with him, even when her bones began to knit back together and the discomfort from the healing began to show on her face. Her lips parted and he heard the tiniest cry of pain emerge and he fought the impulsive need to stroke her cheek and whisper soothing words until the agony passed. Blessed Maker, look at him- a pretty face and a set of luminous eyes and he was all but drunk on moonbeams. Clearly he needed to go into Amaranthine more often and play the ‘ _hero_ ’ card with the girls at the inn.

Rolan stood over them with a scowl and dropped the fabric over the two of them. Anders rolled his eyes in exasperation and carefully wrapped the cloak around her, doing his best not to brush against her recently healed wounds. As if noticing she was naked for the first time, she glanced down at herself; something akin to panic flared in her eyes and she buried her face against his chest. He thought he heard her groan and resisted the laugh that fought to escape.

What a bizarre day.

“Can you carry her, Warden?” Denril asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder and breaking the moment that had risen up between the two of them. “If you’re done with the healing, we need to go now or the other group will catch up to us.”

He climbed awkwardly to his feet, hefting her in his arms while hers snaked up to wrap around his neck. She weighed alarmingly little and, he had to admit, smelled terrible. He couldn’t really blame her for that, but… _Maker_. She smelled worse than the cave.

They wound back through the tunnels that had brought them to her, and when they stepped into the sunshine he felt her tense in his arms. She peeked out hesitantly, her eyes filling with tears again as she stared around at the scenery, wonder written across her face. As if she had never expected to see the world again.

“If she tries to turn us all into lunch before we get back to the Keep, I’m blaming _you_ ,” Rolan said, shoving his shoulder as he walked past and headed through the trees towards the main road.

Denril sighed and shook his head. “Mariken, take point again. Scout out in the usual pattern. Report back only if we have trouble.” The hunter nodded briskly and vanished into the tree line. Denril looked over at Anders, staring at the trembling bundle in his arms. “You notice anything out of the ordinary,” he said, his eyes flat like stone, “anything at _all_ , end it quickly.” Saying that, he turned towards the path that Rolan had taken, gesturing for Anders to follow.

With a sigh of his own, Anders set off after them. The woman in his arms squirmed, tightening her hold around his shoulders and burying her face in the curve of his neck. He tried not to tense; instead, he glanced down at her and murmured “Who _are_ you?”

Her eyes met his again and she took a deep breath before finally whispering “Tahlindra.”

Well. That didn’t clear anything up.


	2. Chapter 2

Anders was sitting upside down in the throne in the main hall, his head dangling close to the floor with his feet propped against the elaborate headboard. There was a bit too much blood pooling in the back of his head, and he was sure his face was bright red, but at that moment he didn’t care. It wasn’t like he cared about what anyone in this Keep thought about him most of the time anyway, and he could always come up a snarky quip if he desperately needed to, something to make people blush or roll their eyes and write him off once again as an idiot and a wastrel. It wasn’t hard.

Four months as a Warden; it was four months longer than he’d expected to stick around. It’d been a little over two months since the Commander had left for Denerim and for every minute that she’d been gone he’d entertained the fantasy of simply disappearing in the night. He didn’t owe his loyalty to the Wardens- he owed his loyalty to _her_ , to the woman who’d stood toe to toe with a Templar for him, who’d chased after shadows without batting an eyelid when he was convinced he’d found his phylactery; who’d taught him dirty songs in the Deep Roads to keep him from panicking when the walls closed in on him. And without her here the Keep had become just another prison for him. Oh, sure, he had free roam of the castle and grounds, and no one objected too strenuously when he and Oghren and Sigrun went carousing in Amaranthine.

But Captain Denril, the Weisshaupt sanctioned second in command, was a disapproving arse at the best of times; at the worst of times his fingers twitched to rein in the desire to shoot lightning at fools, something the Commander had explicitly forbade him from doing. While she wasn’t normally one to care about public opinion, she knew it wouldn’t really endear them to anyone if people who displeased the Wardens kept spontaneously busting into flames. And if Denril wasn’t bad enough, the man he’d allowed to join their ranks was ten times, a hundred times worse. It wouldn’t have been so painful if Rolan was actually trying to be a Warden, but he made no pretence about his reasons for being at Vigils Keep.

He clung desperately to the belief that Defira wouldn’t have allowed Rolan into the Wardens, but it wasn’t like he had a great deal of evidence to the contrary. Maybe she would have buckled to political pressure in the end regardless of what she desired to do. Reading people wasn’t really something he excelled at anymore; six months out from solitary and he still flinched when someone yelled too loudly.

And yet here he was, lurking in the main hall and waiting desperately for the secret arrival of the one woman that he thought he could read. And as desperate as he was to see her just for the sake that it would be _her_ , the first person in a long time to extend a hand of friendship without a hidden agenda, her covert return to the Keep was for one reason and one reason alone. A reason that interested him far more than his mild obsession with his superior.

Tahlindra.

Anders tumbled to the floor and crawled to his knees when the door creaked a warning; he was on his feet and surging forward when Varel walked in, closely followed by Commander Tabris. The Seneschal spotted him and scowled, holding his hand out in warning, but it was too late; Anders intercepted them before they’d taken a half dozen steps inside the door, skidding to a halt in front of them to stop their progress forward.

“Commander,” he said quickly before Varel could send him on his way, bowing at the waist. The sight of her sent a wave of agonized relief through him, confirmation that she was safe and hale and most importantly _real_. Sometimes late at night when he lurched awake from his nightmares, he half convinced himself that the irrepressible elvhen woman was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Defira turned to him with a smile, genuine happiness sparkling in her eyes. “Anders! You look tired.” Without warning she leapt forward and threw her arms around his middle, squeezing fiercely enough to have him grunting at the pressure. From somewhere in the centre of his chest, he heard a muffled “Where is Pounce?”

“Ser Pounce-a-Lot has many serious duties as chief mouser of the Vigil,” he said with mock seriousness. He hugged her awkwardly, half aware of Varel scowling fiercely at him and trying to find a find an angle that wouldn’t have him squishing her head. Damned tiny elf. “I would be foolish to try and discourage him from his tasks.”

She nodded as she handed her cloak to a servant who dashed forward. His sixth sense tingled, something that piqued his healing instincts; with a subtle flick of his fingers he sent a querying tendril of magic towards her. The answer bounced back at him a fraction of a second later- she was pregnant, too early to be showing and almost too early for him to wonder if she knew herself. So. The King had managed an heir and a spare, after all. And here everyone was worried about the effects of darkspawn taint on fertility. Guess the trip to Denerim had resulted in a reconciliation of sorts after all. “I hear you’ve had an eventful few weeks,” she said, dragging him from his thoughts while she gratefully accepted the water that was pressed into her hands by another eager attendant. “A darkspawn nest with a difference, by the sounds of it. Rescuing a mysterious damsel from monsters only to find that she knows you _and_ speaks only in some bizarre language? That sounds like the kind of nonsense someone would make up about me. Care to tell me your version of events?”

Upfront and to the point, as always; he appreciated that about her. There was no coy attempt at manipulation, no digging for information or holding cards close to her chest. “I don’t know who she is,” he said, realising he sounded somewhat desperate. But how else was he to talk about an event that had turned his already unconventional life upside down?

It had been nearly two weeks since they had rescued Tahlindra from that cave, and she had refused to speak to anyone else. After much deliberation he’d reluctantly revealed her name to Varel, in the vague hope that she might be more willing to trust someone if they used her name. It didn’t work. When she opened her mouth, she spoke in that ridiculous babble that no one could understand, frustrating the many people who had made various attempts at befriending or interrogating her. The only recognisable word she seemed willing to speak was his name, which was both smugly satisfying and rather annoying. He was immensely pleased that she seemed to have latched onto him and chosen to ignore his superiors; but on the other hand, the more she begged for him, the more suspicion fell back on him. “And I don’t know how she knows me. I swear I’ve never seen her before in my life- but they won’t let me back in to see her, and I damn well want to so I can find out what’s going on!”

She raised an eyebrow at his tone, staring him down as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. “I’ve been told she recognised you and was quite distraught to be separated from you.” She started walking down the length of the great hall and Varel and Anders fell in behind her. Varel was quite noticeably tense, but Anders ignored him. Maker, but it seemed like he spent most of his time ignoring or being ignored in this building. _Can’t acknowledge the murderous apostate, even if he did help save Amaranthine... and slay the Architect… and end the Mother’s psychotic reign of terror._ It made him want to laugh- bitterly, granted. Several months ago, he had been a hero. Then Defira had returned to Denerim, leaving Denril the Orlesian stick in the mud in charge. And then Rolan had joined the Wardens and stuck to his side like glue. Slowly, day by day, life had become more and more unbearable until it was as much of a gilded cage as the Circle had ever been.

“Anders?” Defira stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him, knocking him out of his brooding. “Nothing to add to the conversation? You seemed quite…. eager to intercept me on the way in and now you’re being unusually quiet.”

“Unusually quiet?” he said with what he hoped was a teasing grin. Defira had never chastised him for his flirtations, indulging him to the point where he’d almost believed she was going to answer differently when he’d lamented the woeful lack of pretty girls in his life. It wasn’t until Oghren had almost gleefully blurted out the complicated relationship she had with the King, an ex-Templar of all things that he’d realised how much of an idiot he’d been. He wasn’t sure what was more awkward- knowing that she held a candle for another man and was likely just humouring him, or knowing that she preferred the affections of a Templar. To be completely honest, he probably still held a candle for her regardless; an incorrigible elfish woman small enough to fit in a thimble but fierce enough to slaughter nightmares one-handed and go up against rabid Templars determined to drag him away to be branded a maleficar? Who wouldn’t be half in love with a woman like that?

She grinned in return, the warmth in her eyes completely sincere. “I always worry when your mouth is shut,” she said dryly. “It makes me wonder what schemes are forming in that mischievous head of yours.”

He held up his hands with a look of mock outrage on his face. “Me, scheming? My fragile heart is wounded by your grievous accusations. I have nothing put the purest of motives, at all times!”

She laughed merrily, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Oh, absolutely. Because it certainly _wasn’t_ you that spiked the Joining ritual chalice so that the new Wardens woke up bright green.”

“I admit; I may have had something to do with that.”

“Or the time you enchanted Nathaniel’s bow so that his arrows turned into flowers when he shot them.”

“I was expecting him to notice before he tried to take it into the Deep Roads!”

“Or when you convinced the kitchen staff that the Dalish recruits I brought back only ate live grubs served on leaf platters instead of plates.”

He held up his hands again, this time in true entreaty. “The lady is persistent, and observant. I yield and admit defeat.”

They reached the stairs and headed for the second floor. Unconsciously he reached out to her elbow, to help her up the steps, and she flashed him a grateful smile. When they reached the landing she pressed her fist into her lower back and winced. “Maker, but I don’t remember ever being this tired even during the damned Blight.”

That threw up a warning flag; he frowned and looked at her a little more carefully, taking in the lines around the edge of her eyes, the pale hue of her skin… if she didn’t know she was pregnant and she’d pushed herself to reach Amaranthine quickly…

“Commander, I must insist that you rest first before attempting to interrogate the prisoner,” Varel said, glancing towards Anders. The Seneschal narrowed his eyes at him, suspicion flickering through his eyes. “Additionally, I do not think it would be a good idea for the Warden to be present when you speak to her.”

“I have a name, Varel,” he snapped.

Defira waved her hand absently. “Get used to it. I ran the length and breadth of this country to end a civil war and Blight, and yet all I ever got was ‘ _you! You’re the Grey Warden!_ ’ or ‘ _you’re that elf!_ ’ That’s assuming they were even speaking civilly to me or not ordering me to fetch their laundry, of course.”

“I want to see her,” he said, pointedly ignoring Defira’s attempts to defuse the tension. “I’m the best healer in this damn building and they won’t let me treat her. She’s _my_ patient, not a bloody prisoner!”

“Why, Anders that sounded positively territorial. Are you _sure_ you don’t know her?”

He wanted to slam his fist into the wall in frustration. “I just… she knew my name! As if everyone wasn’t suspicious enough of me as it was, now I have some mysterious woman turning up in the Deep Roads who seems to know who I am! And I can’t even ask her because no one will let me see her!”

Defira’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, no mean feat given the disparities in their height. “I promise you, Anders, that you will have a chance to talk to her,” she said softly. “But as Commander of the Grey, my responsibilities come before any of my friendships. I need to meet her and decide if she is a threat at all.”

“She wasn’t corrupted,” he insisted, then paused. “Well, not more than any of us. I promise you, she is perfectly safe.”

Denril and Varel had put Tahlindra through the Joining the moment they had reached the Keep. In the two days it had taken them to travel from the Deep Roads, she had lapsed in and out of consciousness, despite his healing efforts, and her skin had begun to exhibit the tell-tale signs of corruption. There had been debate about whether to simply kill her, whether making her a Warden would be a risk to them all, but it wasn’t a popular option. She had been submitted to the ritual, half conscious during the ceremony and had survived, to his immense relief.

And then she had been promptly whisked away from him, and despite his best efforts, he had been unable to see her. He had not felt this frustrated in a very long time.

“I accept that, Anders,” she said, coming to a stop outside her office. Denril occupied it these days, but had graciously allowed Defira to utilise it while on this return trip from Denerim. “But we have no idea who she is, how she was captured, or even what language she’s speaking. Not to mention, that niggling point you keep coming back to about her seeming to know you.”

“I don’t recognise her,” he said stubbornly. “I _might_ , if I was allowed to talk to her.”

She sighed, rubbing her forehead as if it ached. “Anders, please. Give me a chance to speak to her before you start ranting about the injustice of it all.”

Clenching his jaw so tightly he could have bent metal between his teeth, he nodded curtly and turned and walked back down the hallway. Behind him he heard Defira sigh again and say something softly to Varel. He walked faster, determined not to be tempted to try and overhear what they were saying about him. He couldn’t bear it if one of his last friends thought poorly of him.

Of course, it got worse. Rolan was waiting for him at the base of the stairs, absently flicking a coin up and down in the air. Anders fought the childish urge to send a blast of ice at it and send it skittering down the hallway. Added bonus of course being that the searing cold would freeze Rolan’s fingers… and then he could accidentally on purpose snap one or two of them off. “Harassing the Commander already?” Rolan said with a smug sneer. “Hate to break it to you, mage, but the elf is off limits. Or had you not noticed her shacking up with the King?”

“Sod off, Rolan,” he snarled, pushing past him and heading out towards the training yards. He wanted to turn and growl threateningly when he felt the Templar push off the wall and amble along behind him. So he needed an escort when the Commander was in residence now? Did they think he was so much of a threat that he couldn’t be trusted around the Hero of Ferelden? No, he was just being melodramatic, of course no one would suspect him that severely… well, no one except for Rolan of course…

The weather was holding up well for the season, and the yard was full of Wardens taking advantage of the sun to throw themselves into extra training sessions. Their numbers had climbed to thirteen now, a phenomenal number for them to have reached in so short a time. With the exception of Denril, who was likely meeting with Defira and Varel, all of the Wardens were out in force, sparring and bickering good-naturedly and swearing as the occasional blow landed. It was actually a rather uncommon sight, seeing them all gathered together with such enthusiasm. Granted, the presence of the Commander probably had something to do with the phenomenal turn out, but he wasn’t going to voice such sarcastic thoughts aloud. He’d probably be given a week on kitchen duty for such a remark, the way things were going at the moment.

He watched from the sidelines, leaning against the fences of the training yards, and thankfully Rolan drifted away from him after a few minutes. The Templar was soon embroiled in a mock battle against Oghren and a handful of the newest Wardens. He snorted in amusement when Oghren hit him with the flat of his axe on the backside, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The dwarf shot him a pleased leer and then went back to the fight.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned his head; Justice was wandering along the edge of the fenced yards, solemnly observing the training. Most Wardens, particular the newer ones, gave the spirit a wide berth and although he knew Justice had no idea of the slight against him, Anders felt bad for him and waved him over. As he drew closer, he bit back a wince- his body seemed more decayed than he remembered, and he walked with a slight limp, as if the flesh was beginning to lose the ability to maintain a semblance of life.

“Anders,” Justice said in greeting, his gravelly voice echoing between them. “Have you had a chance to talk to the female you rescued from the darkspawn?”

Anders shook his hand and leant back against the fence, crossing his arms across his chest. “Still not allowed in,” he said glumly, casting his eyes up to the Keep where he knew her room was. “Has she spoken to you at all?”

“They had me attempt to communicate with her several days ago,” the spirit said. “She was not responsive to my overtures. I do believe I frightened her.”

Anders laughed. “I can’t imagine why. I’m sure every girl deep down wants a rotting body possessed by a Fade spirit as her best friend.”

“This is sarcasm, yes?” Justice somehow managed to look pleased with himself. “I am growing more accustomed to social interactions. I believe I have begun to master this one in particular.”

“Oi, Anders!” Rolan was yelling from the training ground, his chest heaving and his sword drawn. Anders glared over his shoulder at the idiot. “Don’t you and that abomination go getting too chummy! If you get any ideas, I’ll be on you!”

“Andraste’s tits, Rolan, why did you even bother becoming a Warden if you’re going to make it that obvious why you’re here?” Rolan merely smirked and saluted him with his blade, before spinning to engage an elf named Reven who’d been recruited at around the same time as Mariken.

There was some nervous laughter at the exchange, as if no one was quite sure whether to treat it as a joke or not, before everyone turned back to their activities. Anders could feel eyes boring into the back of his head. He tried not to gesture rudely at the watchers, but Maker it was hard. It would be so easy right now to be the shallow wastrel, to slip into the role they all expected him to take.

Justice still stood at his side, his unearthly gaze roaming slowly over the training yard. He frowned. “And yet no one stands in your defence, despite claiming the bonds of comradeship,” he said in a disapproving tone. “They although a kinsman to heap slander upon you; their silence all but condones his actions. He is still determined to judge you for being a mage, yes?”

“Yes, Justice,” Anders said with a sigh, knowing by rote the lecture that was about to come his way. _Mages should be free, they should not be caged, they should not be judged; it is within your power to do something._ “He is particularly fired up because of the girl, but yes, he is judging me for being a free mage.”

“Such an attitude is intolerable,” Justice said. “He needs to learn the error of his ways. He should not be judging you by an accident of birth, but instead by your actions. You have clearly shown yourself to be beyond reproach. His continued bias causes great amounts of harm to the plight of your fellow mages. You should correct him.”

“Justice, we’ve been over this- I’m no hero, nor am I some renegade symbol of mage freedom. I’m not interested in being the figurehead of mage rebellion. I just hate Templars and want to run my own life the way I want.”

“You could do great things if you tried, Anders. You are not without talent, and your ability to escape a building as formidable of the Circle tower so many times is nothing short of remarkable. If you put your mind to it, you could-”

It was like being struck by lightning. The inspiration was suddenly so crystal clear that he felt himself a fool for not making the connection himself. “Of course!” Anders said, slapping a hand to his forehead. “I’m such an idiot; I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” He dashed back up the hill towards the Keep, calling over his shoulder “Thanks for the inspiration, Justice!”

He had escaped from the Circle Tower, possibly the most secure building in Ferelden, no less than seven times. What was Vigil’s Keep to someone like him, who had done the impossible time and time again? He had grown so used to following the rules, being a Warden and doing the right thing, that he had forgotten that he had other ways of achieving his goals. Ways that weren’t perhaps so right. _Sneaky_ ways.

He dashed up the stairs two at a time and headed for his room, locking the door behind him. He went straight to the window and pushed open the shutters, sliding onto the sill and throwing his legs out over the void. It was not a terrible drop- he’d survived worse in his attempts to get away from the Tower- but even so, he tried not to look down. Just because he could survive it didn’t mean he wanted to test the theory, and vertigo never made a climb any easier. He counted the windows until he found the one which would lead into Tahlindra’s room. Then he took a deep breath and began to climb.


	3. Chapter 3

Tahlindra was lying on the bed playing with the tabby cat that had woken her up by sitting on her head this morning. She had no idea how the creature had even made it into the room, given that she’d taken to all but barring the door to stop the Wardens from harassing her, but she wasn’t about to complain when the little terror was just so darn cute. She laughed as it batted ferociously at her fingers, dragging the frayed strings from her shirt across the blanket; he pounced so magnificently on the offending cotton that she burst into a fit of giggles, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in… a very long time. She couldn’t actually remember the last time she had felt at peace like this.

She continued to tease the kitten, delighted when it began to rub up against her chest, purring so contentedly that she could feel the vibrations beneath her skin. “You need a name, kitten,” she said, hooking her hand underneath him and dragging him to eye level. There was a fancy leather collar looped around his neck, and a little metal disc with those wretchedly confusing symbols. Oh Maker, what if they expected her to know how to read- would they be annoyed at having recruited an illiterate Warden? “Do you have a name already? Care to share it with me, hmm?”

There was a scraping sound, leather on stone, and it took her a moment to realise the sound was coming from inside the room. “His name is Ser Pounce-a-Lot, and he is a wretched traitor.” Tahlie sat up in alarm at the sound of the male voice that was so hauntingly familiar. Anders was sliding through the window frame as she turned, a cocky smile upon his face as he planted both feet on the floor of her room and drew himself up to his full height. Then his eyes widened and his face flushed slightly; he immediately looked up at the ceiling as he said with a grin “You may want to consider adjusting your clothing, my dear.”

Tahlie looked down and gasped when she realised her shirt was unbuttoned all the way to her waist, leaving her skin bare except for her smallclothes. She’d left it open to let the morning air cool the ache of her stitches, assuming she’d have enough warning to make herself decent. Blushing furiously, she hastily buttoned it all the way to the neck. “Most people have the courtesy to knock first. You know, and come through the _door_.”

“Your door is currently not available as an option for me, Tahlindra,” he said, drawling over her name in a way that sent shivers dancing across her skin. Maker, even after all these years he still turned her into a puddle of goo. She threw surreptitious glances his way, trying not to let him see the way she watched him. “And I must admit I find myself surprised to find you speaking legibly. You have everyone else in the Keep convinced you don’t understand a single word spoken to you. And yet, here you are, not only speaking the common tongue, but without even a hint of an accent. Imagine that.”

“I… I have no desire to speak to any of the others, Anders.”

He raised an eyebrow at her provocatively and crossed the room towards her, _swaggering_ really, coming to a stop beside the bed. Having him so near to her made her breath catch. “And we come to the crux of the matter so quickly. Why is it that you desire to speak to no one but me? Why speak in gibberish and feign ignorance when they try to talk to you? And, perhaps most importantly by my count, how do _you_ know who _I_ am?”

She felt her stomach plummet. “ _Ah,_ ” she said, somewhat lamely. It was probably too much to hope that he might remember her. It had been a single night, many years ago now. Particularly given that her sister was so much more memorable than she was, so much more confident and flamboyant. Still, a girl could dream. Just wasn’t much fun to have those dreams then crushed to fine, dusty powder.

“Ah, indeed,” he said, smiling widely, apparently unaware of her mild devastation. He seemed so completely sure of himself, so smug and in control, that she felt a moment of childishness overtake her. “So, do you have some elaborate answer for me? Some completely mundane way to reassure me I’m not going mad and that this is all just a misunderstanding?”

She picked up Ser Pounce-a-Lot and hugged him to her chest. He purred happily. “I heard one of the other Wardens call your name in the cave,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I guess I was just so happy to see another human, to be rescued from… from _that_ -” She stopped to blink back tears that had begun to burn in her eyes, to fight back the surge of revulsion and panic that clawed at her stomach. “I guess I just latched onto you because you represented safety.”

He stared at her for a moment, before beginning to hum under his breath. She frowned at him as she tried to catch the tune. He grinned and began to sing the words that accompanied the nursery song. “ _Liar, liar, pants on fire; all those tales sound awfully dire!_ ”

Tahlie gaped at him for a moment, stunned that he would call her out. “Are you calling me a liar?” she said incredulously.

“Oh well _goodness_ , it certainly _sounds_ like I am, doesn’t it?” His grin was beginning to irk her slightly. “Spare me the stories, Tahlie- may I call you Tahlie? - and tell me the truth. I happened to be in that cave with you, surprisingly, and you recognised me when you opened your eyes. You can’t fake that.”

“So you don’t recognise me then?” she said, trying to sound airy and unconcerned, when really his answer meant far more than it should. “Given our vast history and all?”

“While I would desperately love to say I could never forget a face as lovely as yours, you have me at a disadvantage, my dear. You know me; can I impress upon you to introduce yourself properly?”

She tried not to feel disappointed, but her shoulders sagged regardless. “I should not have expected you to remember.”

“Aha! The lady confesses!” He crowed with laughter and sat down beside her with a flourish, making the mattress sag; she flailed for a moment to stop herself from rolling into him. “Do tell, then, how a flower such as yourself escaped from my company without… making a more lasting impression.”

Tahlie rolled her eyes despite herself. “Are you always this smarmy?”

“Well, why ask me? Since you are the one who seems to know me ever so well, I would have thought you would be best placed to answer your own question. Since you know me so well.”

She sighed, rubbing the top of Ser Pounce-a-Lot’s head; he purred loudly and then wriggled free, darting across the room and mewling for a moment at the open window. Before she could stop him, he jumped up onto the sill and then slithered from view.

Like master, like feline. “I don’t know you well, Anders. I don’t really know much more about you than your name. We only met once, nearly six years ago. It was dark and you didn’t stay for long.”

His brow crinkled as he tried to match her description to a memory. “Nope, still drawing blanks. There are a lot of women in my past whom I met in the dark and didn’t know for long.” His meaning was abundantly clear, and for a moment it hurt. It shouldn’t hurt, because she didn’t know him at all, not in that context, but she had to wonder why he threw the truth around so callously. “You’ll have to be more descriptive than that.”

Tahlie was quiet for a long moment, staring at her hands in her lap. “You are more likely to remember my sister than me… Melissandra?”

The air rushed out of him and he sat upright so quickly that he nearly fell of the bed. “Melissandra? The self-proclaimed Tevinter magister who liked to act like a little queen in Kinloch Hold?”

“The very same,” she said with a wry smile. “At least, I assume she acted like that in the tower, as it’s exactly how she acted at home once the two of you escaped. You were lucky- she never spoke particularly derisively of you. That’s more than most people can say.”

Anders slumped back against the wall, mild shock rippling through him. Of course he remembered high and mighty Melissandra, the bratty mage who proclaimed to any who stopped to listen that she was descended from a powerful magister, who would one day swoop down to rescue her from the abject tyranny of the Circle and spirit her away to Tevinter to live in luxury as his heir. Granted, she was a powerful mage, and he had used that to his advantage during his fifth escape attempt when she had convinced him to take her with him. But after several days of listening to her harp on and whinge incessantly, he had been all too ready to deposit her with her family and disappear into the night.

“You were her sister? You were there, that night in Gwaren?”

She smiled sadly. “I still _am_ her sister. Twin sister, in fact. And yes, I was there. Not that she stayed for much longer than you did. Less than a month after you left, she announced she was taking a ship to Tevinter. I’ve no idea where she found the money for such a voyage, or how she thought she was going to find our father, but… she left, all the same. We never heard from her again.”

He remembered that night. He and Melissandra had been on the run for nearly two weeks, and her suggestion that they head for Gwaren sounded as good as any other. Her nagging had worn his nerves to shreds and when they’d arrived at the ramshackle house on the edge of town he had been more than ready to turn tail and flee in the opposite direction. But the smell of food had lured him in, and the promise of a bed for the night, instead of another dry creek bed, was too much to resist. Melissandra had strutted about the house, making demands of her poor mother before her foot was even over the threshold. He remembered her saying something about a sister, and recalled looking up from the table at one point just in time to see a dark haired figure dart from the room. Mel had never bothered to introduce her family, and he, desperate to be away, had never thought to ask.

He stared at her now, trying to look for Mel in her features. He stupidly realised that Mel had been staring out at him all this time, but whereas Mel had been cold and beautiful, all sharp angles and flashing eyes, Tahlie was softer and pretty, with a nervous energy like a doe. Skittish even. “You… you don’t look like twins,” he finally said lamely, fishing desperately for something to say.

He thought he saw her flinch, but couldn’t be sure. “Non-identical twins,” she supplied. “Plus, Meli had all the luck when it came to looks. She was always so… memorable. She did always like to be the centre of attention.”

“You talk about her as if you knew her well, but you can’t have spent much time together since you were children. Mel was about six when the Templars brought her in.” Or so he’d been told- he’d been taken in a year or so later, and she’d already established herself as a petulant, self-satisfied little Queen by that point.

“Five,” Tahlie corrected, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The action exposed the smooth curve of her neck and he caught himself staring. He looked away quickly before she noticed. “But the age and the distance didn’t really make a difference. Meli was the same at five as she was at sixteen; it was as if she hadn’t been away at all.”

Anders couldn’t help but chuckle. “Your mother must have the patience of a saint,” he said.

This time she did flinch; he saw her shoulders sag as she looked away. “My mother is dead,” she said quietly. “She was… killed, during the Blight.”

He could have kicked himself. “Oh, Tahlie, I’m sorry,” he said, putting a hand awkwardly on her shoulder. Where was his smooth charm now? “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“Not really,” she said, sniffing quietly, as if she were fighting back tears. “It wasn’t pleasant, and the darkspawn are not really my favourite topic of conversation.” She shuddered violently, wrapping her arms around herself.

Anders slid forward until he was sitting beside her, putting his arm around her. “Come on then, let’s distract you. Tell me about something else. Is everything Mel said about your father true? I could never tell with her if she was telling the truth, or bullshitting, or if she was just utterly mad.”

She giggled weakly at that. “I can just imagine the kind of things she would say too,” she said, then sighed. “Well, not knowing what she told you, I guess I should just start at the beginning. If you don’t mind a story, that is.”

“My lady, I am all ears.”

She giggled again. “Now I’m just picturing a giant pile of ears sitting on the bed beside me. Not a pretty picture.”

He placed a hand on his heart. “You wound me! I have had women swoon at my feet in response to my stunning good looks. I demand satisfaction!”

The smile on her face grew more natural, and the haunted look in her eyes began to fade. “Swords in the meadow at dawn, I presume?”

“I will accept a kiss from a pretty girl,” he quipped, flashing her a winning smile.

She immediately tensed, her eyes flashing with… disappointment? “Perhaps I’ll just get on with the tale. It’s not exactly a short story, after all.”

He blinked in confusion. Had she just turned him down? “Uh, by all means! I look forward to being amazed and astounded.”

Tahlie pulled her legs up onto the bed and rested her chin on her upraised knees. “Our mother was a slave in Tevinter, an elf in Marnus Pell who was sold into slavery by her parents to pay off a debt. She worked in the house of a powerful Magister by the name of Caecilius, who found it completely within his rights to… have his way with the female slaves. Which is not unusual, really, from what I hear of Tevinter. My mother fell pregnant and could not bear the thought of having his children. There are stories about what happens to unwanted children born between a slave and a master and even though it was rape, she couldn’t face the idea of the innocent babe being used for… for power, or some magic ritual. Or killed outright to protect the line of succession. So she fled.”

“She was a brave woman,” he said honestly. “There are few who would have the nerve to defy a Magister.”

She waved her hand as if disagreeing with him. “She was a desperate woman. I would not necessarily call her brave. It was probably the only time in her life when she stood up for us.” She sighed before continuing. “At any rate, she ran as far from Tevinter as she could, finally stopping in Gwaren when her pregnancy encumbered her too much to keep going. She did not realise she carried twins and apparently, or so I am told, cursed bitterly when we were born.

“Meli and I ran wild as children; Mother was too busy taking whatever job she could just to feed us, so she had no time to raise us or see to our education. For a while, we even refused to speak normally and had our own, elaborate twin language.” He laughed and she looked at him from under her eyelashes. “What?”

“I’ve just worked it out,” he said, grinning smugly. “All this time, the language that no one could understand… idioglossia?”

She stared at him blankly. “Um… what?”

“Idioglossia- it’s exactly what you just said. A twin language, or a secret language between only one or two people. That’s what you were speaking in the cave, wasn’t it? It’s what you’ve been speaking when the other Wardens try to talk to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently, too innocently, tucking the same strand of hair behind her ear again. His eyes were drawn like magnets to the spot where her jaw met her neck and he had a fleeting moment of madness wondering how she would react if he kissed her there. “Although really I don’t know why I’m lying about it to you. Yes, I’ve been speaking… uh, whatever that word was. I… I kind of retreated into myself when the darkspawn took me, to escape what was happening to me.” He felt her begin to tremble again and he tightened the arm around her shoulders. “Once you rescued me, it was childish I know, but it was just easier to keep feigning ignorance than deal with everything that had happened.”

“You don’t have to make excuses to me, Tahlie,” he said, taking his turn to play with that determined strand of hair. She jumped when he deliberately ran his fingers along the curve of her decidedly unelfish ear while slipping her hair back into place; he smirked, but she didn’t seem to notice. He thought absently that he wouldn’t have minded if she bore some elfish features, although he did find her disarmingly cute already. The vaguely pointed ear, just curved enough to hint at her heritage, was far too distracting as it was.

She seemed nervous, glancing at him repeatedly as if unsure of why he was sitting so close to her. “So we ran wild, a menace in the Alienage, tolerated right up until the day Meli started showing signs of magic. She was always so fiery, so determined to have her own way, and one day she got into another fight with a human boy and she actually set him on fire.” Her voice was sorrowful, as if the events of that day nearly twenty years ago weighed heavily on her still. Strangely though, for someone who had witnessed such a barbaric act of magic, she didn’t seem afraid as she described it. “He died later that night, and the Templars came for Meli within the half hour. She kicked and snarled and fought them, and then she begged our mother to stop them. Mother just stood there, then turned and walked back inside. She didn’t even say goodbye.”

The old anger and fury at the treatment of mages bubbled up inside him; he fought it back, knowing that it would do no good for him to lash out at Tahlie. Her story made him ill; what mother could stand before her child, _a little girl_ , and ignore her pleas for help?

She was chewing on her lip, as if even talking about it was enough to make her anxious. He ran his hand soothingly up and down her arm, and she relaxed marginally. “Mother and I continued on after Meli left, but it wasn’t the same. I felt like half of me was missing. I tried to fit in, to make friends and help where I could. Then, when I was sixteen, Meli suddenly came charging-”

“Wait, that’s it? You can sum up eleven years of your life in just three sentences?”

Tahlie eyed him as if he was addled. “What, you want to hear about the life of a half elf in a backwater town? We lived in a shack, you saw it. Sometimes we didn’t have food at night; sometimes we didn’t have wood for a fire at night. It was cold and damp and miserable, and I didn’t really have any friends. Why would I wax lyrical about that?”

He liked to think of himself as jaded, as somewhat untouchable by the abject misery in the world around him. And really, her story was no different from the life that thousands of others would have lived, but… it still left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. His chest ached from the way she said it just so abruptly- as if she’d accepted her lot in life and expected no pity for it. “Go on,” he said magnanimously, resorting to flippancy instead of comfort, because sometimes that was easier.

She stared at him for a moment longer- and he only just resisted staring at her mouth, because she’d been chewing on her lip and Maker help him if she didn’t just have the cutest mouth ever- before glancing away and picking up the tale again. “Anyway, Meli came charging back into the house with you in tow, announcing that she had escaped from the tower. I was terrified for her; I’d heard the stories of what the Templars did to escaped mages, had even seen them around Gwaren and had always avoided them. After seeing them drag Meli away, I was always afraid of them, afraid that they would come to take me away next even though I didn’t have any magic.

“But she was so passionate, so wild and confident, just like I remembered her being and it was like she hadn’t gone at all. Eleven years suddenly meant nothing; I wanted to believe her when she said things were going to change, that things were going to be better for us now that she was home. She and Mother immediately set to arguing, and you just sat there with that smug grin on your face, like you had some secret plan that the rest of us didn’t know about and were poorer for it.”

Ah, this he could work with. “Of course I had a secret plan! There wasn’t a time when I wasn’t scheming and plotting, trying to work out how to stay ahead of the hunters.” He paused. “I looked smug?”

“Desperately so! You seemed so immensely pleased with yourself it was almost funny.” She giggled as if she were remembering, completely relaxed against his side. “But I didn’t know what to think. Mother and Meli were shouting, and there was a strange, handsome man sitting at our table, and I was terrified someone would report the noise to the guard and we’d all be clapped in irons. I needn’t have worried- you were gone by morning, and they just took to sniping at each other, rather than arguing fully.” She looked over at him to find him watching her with a predatory smile on his face. “What?”

“You,” he said slowly, tightening his arm around her shoulders until she was pulled flush against him, “just called me handsome.”

She blushed, putting her hands on his chest as if she meant to push away. “Did I? Um... _Maker_. It was… a slip of the tongue, nothing more,” she said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

He _tsked_ her, running his other hand up the side of her neck until he cupped her cheek in his palm. “First, you impugn my honour by questioning my utterly divine appearance, and then you claim that a compliment is just a slip of the tongue.” He tilted her head until she was forced to face him. “So, Tahlindra, you are going to apologise to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, her eyes wider than they had been a moment ago. Her breathing was a little shallow. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it like that at all.”

“Good then,” he said. And he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idioglossia is, according to Wikipedia, an ' _idiosyncratic language invented and spoken by only one person or very few people. Most often, idioglossia refers to the 'private languages' of very young children, especially twins, the latter being more specifically referred to as cryptophasia and commonly referred to as twin talk or twin speech.'_
> 
> And it's not uncommon for victims of traumatic events to regress mentally and emotionally to safer memories, blanking out the unwanted memories. Not universal, by any means, but it has been known to happen.


	4. Chapter 4

Anders pulled her up against his chest, kissing her softly and revelling in the way she moaned against his mouth. He nuzzled at her lip and when she gasped he chased her tongue with his, teasing her with slow strokes and coaxing her to open further to him. Maker, it had been far too long without this kind of contact, because the way she trembled beneath his hands was amazingly satisfying in a way that was surprised him. He liked to know his partner was enjoying themselves, sure, but this was… intoxicating. He captured each little sigh and gasp that she made, one hand stroking softly against her hip while the other cradled her cheek, fingers brushing against her neck as he kissed her. She had her hands fisted in his robe; clinging desperately to him and making little mewling noises that made his blood catch fire. He was just debating whether to push her down onto the bed or whether to pull her onto his lap when she tore away from him, panting for breath and her eyes wild.

She touched a hand to her lips. “Why did you do that?” she gasped, chest heaving alluringly.

He blinked. “I didn’t know a man needed a reason to kiss a pretty girl.”

It was her turn to look surprised, but the flair in her eyes didn’t last long. If anything, Tahlie looked disappointed at his response. “But… I’m _not_ pretty. Are you… are you trying to butter me up, so that I’ll be nicer to you and tell you more? Because I’ve been telling the truth, I haven’t been lying to you at all.”

He kissed her swiftly, cutting her off before she could babble for any longer. “You are pretty,” he said firmly. “I thought that the moment I saw you in the cave.” When she flinched at the reminder of her encounter, he hurried on. “Why would you think you weren’t pretty? Are you blind?”

“N-no,” she stammered, her face so bright red she could have lit a room. “I just… I know what I look like, I know what Melissandra looks like and I know what people say. I’m not stupid.”

“Indulge me for a moment and tell me what people say that has you so convinced you aren’t pretty.”

She chewed nervously on her lip, drawing his gaze to it. He could still taste her and as if she could guess his thoughts she blushed even brighter. “Well, people always notice Meli, whereas I just sort of fade into the background. There was a boy once, but…”

He raised his eyebrows. “But what?”

She sighed. “When Meli came back, he dropped me faster than an Antivan in a whorehouse. Then when she left, I stupidly thought we might be able to start anew. He sneered at me, asked why he would be interested in eating leftovers when he’d had the main course.”

Anders stared at her. “He actually said that?”

Tahlie eyed him nervously. “I wasn’t really surprised. Meli is more vivacious and much more exciting than I’ll ever be, I’m not stupid.”

Something brutal and violent sizzled within him. He liked women; he liked them a _lot_. And there was never any reason to speak to one like _that_. “I can kill him, if you like,” he said fiercely, snatching her hands up in his. “I will go to Gwaren and find him and kill him. Give me a name and it’s done.”

“I, um, I… thank you, Anders, but that’s not necessary.” She withdrew her hands from his and put some space between them, playing with that damned strand of hair again. Sometime soon he was going to have to see what that corner of her jaw tasted like and damn the consequences. “I can be rational about it all. Melissandra is a beautiful, larger than life woman and compared to her I come off as rather tepid.”

He scrutinised her, several clues falling into place. “And Melissandra had no qualms about stealing your paramour? What did your mother have to say about this?”

Tahlie looked away, shame flaring in her eyes. “I didn’t say anything about it to Meli, and Mother had no interest in how I ran my life. I think her only problem with the whole mess was that she had hoped Samuel would marry me and get me out of her hair once and for all.”

Sweet Maker, she actually _believed_ she was that worthless. “Tahlindra, please tell me you don’t mean that.”

She sighed, resignation singing from her. It was probably worse than if she had burst into tears. “Perhaps I should continue with my story. Then you might better understand everything that happened.”

He hooked his arm around her hip and dragged her back beside him. “Hearing it doesn’t mean I’m going to be happy about it.”

She squeaked in alarm at his grip on her, squirming for a moment until he gave her A Look. She continued to fidget, though, glancing at him and then away before glancing back. “I don’t understand you at all, Anders. You don’t even know me! Why are you getting so worked up about things that happened years ago?” When he didn’t answer she sighed again. “Alright then, be stubborn.”

“I’m very good at being stubborn when I want something,” he growled. “Now, if you don’t mind, let’s forget that little aside and move on with the story, hmm?”

The tips of her ears twitched slightly and her cheeks coloured. “Well, you vanished during the night after you and Meli arrived home and Mother and I tried to adjust to having her around again. It was difficult- she had such grandiose expectations, and although she despised the Circle, I gather you lived in a great deal more luxury than we could manage living in an Alienage in a logging town.”

“I wouldn’t call living in a gilded cage luxurious,” he said dryly, “but we certainly never wanted for anything.” _Except freedom. And privacy. And the ability to go to sleep at night without being afraid of what might come for you in the night- Templar or demon._

Tahlie nodded. “Well, it was certainly more than we could provide for her. She always voiced her displeasure, her horror at the lack of amenities. We never had enough food for her, or the right food. The beds were too hard, the sheets too coarse, the rooms too cold. She drove away the few friends I had and alienated those who were already suspicious of our family.

“Despite all that, I was desperately happy to have her around again. It felt like we were a family, and so I overlooked her demands and her obsessions. Mother, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to see the back of her. We had an understanding, of sorts, having spent so many years alone together, but Meli threw that fragile bond out the window. Mother grew bitter, and she had no time for either of us anymore. The day that we awoke to find Meli gone, she was so very happy.”

He frowned. “Wait- what do you mean that you ‘had an understanding’? Are you saying your mother didn’t _love_ you? Didn’t even _like_ you?”

Tahlie gave him a strange look. “Why would she? She was raped and forced to flee the only life she knew just to give us life. She had to live in a restricted, derelict area of the city, never knowing if she would have coin for food each night. She was mocked and jeered at, an educated elf in a backwoods town with the shame of having a magical, murderous daughter. She had nothing to hope for, nothing to look forward to. And then one of her children bears the same gift that she despises so much in the man who once abused her, manifesting the very same entitled attitude and violent demeanour that she insisted was our father through and through. I’m lucky she didn’t throw me out the moment I could walk.”

“You call that lucky? To spend your days in the company of a bitter, twisted woman who was relived to be rid of your sister?”

She gave a sad smile. “Well, I thought I should be grateful to her, at the very least. I always tried to honour her, to respect her. I began to do small jobs about the Alienage when I was eight, trying to bring in a little extra coin to help out. Apart from Meli’s abrupt reappearance, things continued in that way right up until the Blight.

“Mother panicked when news filtered through to us about Ostagar, but then when they said Teyrn Loghain intended to make himself Regent and oppose the Blight, she insisted that we should journey to Denerim.” She hesitated, chewing on her lip for a moment. She was staring off into the distance as she spoke, her eyes far too bright as she blinked rapidly. “He was a good Teyrn, and she was convinced that we would be safest in the city where he ruled. We bought passage on a caravan heading north and set out almost immediately.”

When she paused, frozen in the memory, he hesitated as well. “I take it from your tone that things did not end well,” he prompted gently.

She had grown tense again, and he ran his hand soothingly up and down her arm, resting his head against hers; he would have kissed her temple but he felt like that would be pushing his luck. As it was, he felt some small measure of satisfaction when she relaxed marginally. “No. Things did not go well at all. We were only three days out of Gwaren when the caravan was attacked by darkspawn.” She paused again. When the pause dragged on longer than expected, he glanced down at her and let out a cry of alarm to see tears tracing down her cheeks.

“Tahlie, sweetheart, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me-”

“No, no.” She sniffed and wiped her face, a look of determination in her eyes. “ _No_. I need to tell the tale.” She sniffed again, then took a deep breath and continued. “We were three days out of Gwaren, a long way from the next town and with nowhere to run for aid. The guards who had been hired on to protect us proved useless. Most of them ran down the road at the first sign of the darkspawn; not that it did them any good.

“There was screaming and so much blood. We were riding in a wagon with some other women and children, and when the darkspawn came for us there was panic. I had a knife- not much good for anything other than slicing bread, but it was all I had- and I stood up with another girl to try and give the others time to escape. She can’t have been more than fifteen, and they dragged her from the wagon. I could hear her screams fade into the distance as they carried her into the woods.

She shuddered. “They kept coming. Some of the men tried to fight, most people tried to flee. When one of those creatures lunged into our wagon, my mother…” She broke off and choked on a sob, shoulders heaving as she fought back the tears with everything she had. “My mother _pushed_ me at them. I turned to her, yelling for her to run and she shoved me backwards. I fell over the edge of the wagon, and I felt my leg break as I hit the roadway. I was lying there, betrayed and in so much pain, when the horse pulling the wagon reared in alarm. I heard a roar and saw a darkspawn as big as a house and then a boulder was smashing through the wood. The last thing I saw before I fell unconscious was the wagon falling down on top of me.”

“ _Maker_ ,” he whispered, pulling her tighter. He found that he could think of nothing else to say. Nothing seemed adequate.

She was trembling, shaking so violently beneath his hands that he thought it a wonder she didn’t fall straight off the bed. “When I woke up, I was covered in the remains of the wagon. I could smell blood and burning flesh in the air; somehow, despite my leg, I crawled from the wreckage. There was… there was so much death. There were bodies and blood and oh Maker, the children were the worst of all.” She was crying in earnest now. “I passed out twice more as I tried to go through the debris looking for elfroot or healing potions or anything that might help me. I drank something, and it was enough for me to be able to get my feet under me without fainting from the pain. Then I turned around and crawled back to Gwaren. I stayed there for the entirety of the civil war and the Blight and we had hardly a worry. The darkspawn never quite made it that far east so I was safe, if now walking with a strong limp and without a family or a home.”

“Blessed Andraste, how in the name of the Maker do you manage to still smile? I would have crawled under my bed and refused to come out at all.” Andraste’s knickerweasels, somehow solitary confinement didn’t seem quite as wretched as he remembered it. Although at the whisper of memory he felt the familiar crawling sensation on his skin and he glanced at the walls just to make sure they weren’t moving.

She smiled sadly, trying to wipe the tears from her face. Her attempts were rather useless, given that she was still crying. “I had people that knew me and were willing to take me in. I tried to get work again, to pay for board and food so that I was not a drain on their families. Then, a few months ago you had the problems up here in Amaranthine and I heard they were looking for people to help with the rebuilding efforts. I decided to take my chances and scraped together enough coin for passage on a ship to Denerim. I sold the last of my things and boarded the ship with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

“Why Denerim? Why not take ship all the way to Amaranthine?” he asked, still running his hand up and down her arm. His other arm came to rest naturally on her knee; he was still debating whether to give up and just pull her into his lap. Only the knowledge that he would enjoy that a little too much, even when she was baring her soul with such a horrific tale, stayed his hand.

She gave him a look as if he were the world’s greatest idiot. “For the same reason I said a moment ago. I only had enough coin to get as far as Denerim, no further. I intended to walk the rest of the way to Amaranthine.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as the pieces fell into place. “So, on a bad leg and in a realm recently beset by hideous creatures, you decided to walk an entire arling alone just to make a fresh start?”

She nodded miserably. “I didn’t want to stay in Gwaren. There were too many memories, too many people who remembered that I was Aleeda’s unwanted daughter, sister of a wild apostate and now a lame beggar. I needed to leave and Amaranthine seemed like the best place to start anew. I just wanted to make a new home, to make friends and have a family again. One that might love me this time.”

His heart gave a lurch at her words, grieving him in a way he never would have expected. She had such simple dreams, most of which she would never see come to light. True, she had a home now and she was gentle enough that a lot of the other Wardens would adore her on sight. But a family? That was out of the question now. Had anyone had the chance to sit down with her and explain the consequences of the Joining with her yet? Probably not, given how she had avoided speaking the same language as everyone else in the Keep for a good fortnight now.

“I left Denerim about three weeks ago,” she said, hiccupping as she tried to get her tears under control. “I managed to get some coin together to buy some food; I hoped that if it wasn’t enough to last the trip that I would be able to beg some charity off one of the merchant caravans.”

She took a deep breath, a sob breaking from her. “They took me at night, while I slept. I had passed a caravan during the day who told me they’d had no trouble, so I wasn’t expecting danger. I assumed, what with the war against the Mother and the Architect, and having all the Wardens in the area, that things were safe.” She buried her face against his chest and bawled, great heaving sobs making her slender frame shudder violently. Hoping his body would cooperate in his attempt to be chivalrous and comforting, Anders gave up and pulled her into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin and wrapping both arms around her as tightly as he could. She clung to him, weeping inconsolably.

“They took me into the darkness,” she wailed, the words stilted and disjointed as she tried to get them out around the tears. “They _did_ things to me. They made me do awful, horrible things. I wanted to die, I wanted them to kill me and be done with it. But then you came along and you saved me, when I thought I’d never see you again after that single night. I just… oh, _Anders_ …”

She lifted her head to his and she kissed him, taking him by surprise. After the shock had passed, he kissed her in return, trying to soothe her and end her tears and her nightmares. Where that desire had sprung from, he didn’t know, but it was _killing_ him to see her so traumatised. He wanted to see her smile again. In fact, he wanted to see her smiling always. It wasn’t right that someone with such a gentle, loving soul had experienced so much darkness in such a short life.

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her with everything he had in him, murmuring her name as he ran his lips along her jawline, across her forehead, back to her mouth. He kissed her wherever he could reach, wherever there was skin exposed to touch. “You really thought about me for six years?” he murmured in between kisses.

She gasped as on hand ran slowly over the dip in her back. “You were so handsome,” she whispered, “and so happy, and confident. Everything that I never saw in Gwaren.”

He nuzzled at the corner of her mouth until she whimpered. “You should have said hello,” he said, nipping softly at her lip, tugging on it until she was squirming on his lap and making him light headed. “I wouldn’t have minded having daydreams about a pretty girl for the last six years either.”

She moaned at that, her fingers threading through his hair as he trailed kisses down her neck. “I just… I didn’t…” He did something she seemed to approve of, if the needy noises coming from her were any indication. “Oh, Maker, Anders, why are you doing this?”

His hand slipped up the back of her shirt, fingers dancing across bare skin. The contact was electric and they both shuddered. “Need I remind you that you kissed me this time?” To emphasis his point, or perhaps undermine it- he wasn’t sure, he didn’t care- he dragged her back down to kiss again, drowning in her, swallowing every cry and gasp and moan she made.

He nearly didn’t hear the door open, too lost in her, but he certainly heard the sound of armoured feet entering the room. Tearing himself away from Tahlie, he hugged her protectively to his chest as he looked up to see Defira and Varel standing in the doorway. Neither of them looked surprised to see him there.

That should have been enough of a warning for him, but he was still reeling from the horrific story Tahlie had woven for him and he didn’t anticipate what Defira said when she opened her mouth.

“Thank you, Anders,” she said, her posture stiff and unyielding, her tone indicating she was _exceedingly_ angry about something. The woman standing before him was the woman who had stopped a Blight, not the woman who was his friend. “We appreciate you getting the truth from this young lady; it was well overdue. A job well done Warden. You may now leave.”

Anders blinked several times as her words sunk in. Tahlie, however, understood them a fraction of a second before he did and recoiled violently from him with a cry, pressing herself up against the wall. The look of horrified betrayal on her face was shattering.

“You… you were sent here to interrogate me?” she whispered.

“No!” he roared, coming to his feet in a blind rush of fury. “I would never…” He spun to face Defira; Varel had the good sense to look alarmed, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Defira stared coldly at him, her eyebrows raised as if she were amused by his challenge. “You _bitch_ ,” he spat. “You set me up! How _dare_ you!”

“That’s ‘how dare you, _ser_ ’,” she snapped in retaliation. “You are _dismissed_ , Warden. You may now leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere! If you want me to leave, you’ll have to drag my corpse out of here, because I will fucking fight you if you try to make me.”

“Warden!” The fierceness of her tone made Tahlie shrink even further against the stone, sobbing inconsolably. “You will leave this room now _or it will be the last thing you ever do._ ”

The air between them crackled with tension, and he could feel electrical sparks dripping down his fingers before singeing the carpet. He felt so betrayed, so utterly used and for once he wasn’t the only one to bear the pain of that betrayal. Every sob that broke from Tahlindra was like a knife in his chest- but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the one in his back. Fighting to get himself under control, he bit his tongue so ferociously that he could taste blood, before stalking out into the hallway and away from Tahlie.


	5. Chapter 5

Defira shut the door with an ominous click and turned to him with a severe expression on her face. Her eyes were glittering like ice; he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her so angry and yet he didn’t care. She hadn’t even been this angry when Aidan had warned her away from Amaranthine, telling her to return and protect the Vigil at the expense of the city. “Varel, please make sure that Tahlindra receives an adequate supper, and have one of the infirmary staff come up to look at-”

“We’re supposed to be friends!” Anders snarled, reaching out to grab her by the collar and shake her, only stopping himself at the last moment. He didn’t even want to think of the various ways he would die if he shook the King’s pregnant lover. Not to mention all the things Defira herself would do to him in the meantime. “You… you _used_ me, when you could have just asked me!”

A muscle ticked in her jaw, and her eyes were like hardened steel. “My office. _Now._ ” She spun on her heel and walked down the hallway, not even checking to see if he was following. He hesitated for a moment, hearing the sound of Tahlie weeping behind the door and desperate to go back to her just to spite Defira. Varel, however, simply crossed his arms over his massive chest and jerked his head in the direction that the Commander had gone, his expression saying what he himself was too diplomatic to say. He sneered at the Seneschal and stomped down the hallway after Defira, resisting the urge to kick the ornamental suits of armour that he passed. Only barely, mind.

He stalked into the room and jumped when the door slammed shut behind him. Defira was at his side a moment later, her eyes flashing with fury. “Sit,” she snapped, stalking past him to her desk. He slumped into the chair in front of the desk, legs sprawled out in front of him and arms crossed petulantly over his chest. When she faced him, if she noticed the sparks crackling in the air around him, she made no mention of it. In fact, she stared down her nose at him even more- a remarkable feat given that she was probably a good foot shorter than him.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t have you imprisoned for threatening the Warden Commander and Arlessa of Amaranthine, for defying your superiors and for fraternizing with a prisoner?” Her tone was measured, but icy cold.

It was all he could do not to scream and pull at his hair. “I yelled at someone who I thought was my _friend_ , in outrage, because that person used me like a puppet!” he spat. A piece of paper on the table between them caught fire and without breaking his gaze or flinching in the slightest she slammed her bare hand down on it, smothering the flames. Despite his fury, he felt a reluctant measure of respect for her in that moment.

“The easiest way to get Tahlindra to talk was to give her what she wanted- namely, you,” Defira said smoothly, wiping her hand with a cloth from the top drawer of the desk. She was cold, desperately so, a terrifying tyrant in the guise of a twenty year old elf. It made it all the more frightening how intimidating she was. “The easiest way to get _you_ to talk to _her_ was to ban you from doing so. Then Tahlindra would not be suspicious of you suddenly being permitted to speak to her after being kept apart for a fortnight. I am not angry that you went and found your own way to her- it was what I anticipated. Do you know, instead, what is making me angry, Anders?”

He sneered. “Let me guess, I ruined your magnanimous persona in front of the new recruit?”

“Get your head out of your arse, Anders!” she snapped, jumping to her feet. There was something simmering just below the icy surface of her Commander façade, and it began to break through as she yelled at him. Something vaguely hysterical and horrified and far more emotional than she allowed the rest of the world to see; it was the same face she’d allowed him to see in the caverns of Kal’Hirol. She was frightened of something. “Not two weeks ago that woman was kidnapped by darkspawn. She was tortured, forced to _eat_ things that would give you nightmares and then raped. _By darkspawn_. Do I have to explain what the significance of that is, or should I assume you’re an idiot as well as an arse?”

The answer chimed within him, the reason for her anger morbidly clear. “She’s fine, Commander,” he said snidely. “Just because you’re afraid of Broodmothers doesn’t mean that she-”

She let out a screeching sound. “Oh, you sanctimonious arse! Do you not understand what I’m trying to get through to you? She was _raped_ , Anders. And _tortured_. And not because she was kidnapped by sadistic bastards who just enjoy doing that sort of thing to women, but because they were trying to turn her into one of them! Do you not understand how horrifying that is? What she would have endured?”

He understood well enough, he just didn’t want to think about it. “I understand that somehow I’m being lectured because you’re afraid of Broodmothers.” It was a low blow, but he was angry and frustrated and just petty enough to not care. He’d been trapped in the Wardens without her tempering influence for weeks now, and for her to come back and immediately start berating him? Yeah, he was a little mad.

The look she gave him could have felled an ogre, it was that poisonous. “Thank you for your maturity in this matter, Warden. It’s nice to see that you have absolutely no understanding of the situation whatsoever. I’m angry at you, because you should know better. I’m angry at you, because you should have put two and two together yourself and realised that Tahlindra needs space, not attention. Yet despite that, I can’t trust you to keep your bloody pants on around her!”

“Andraste’s flaming tits, Defira, do you really think that of me?” He was on his feet too, their faces inches apart and their voices rising in volume. “I love the vote of confidence. Really. Good to know what my friends _really_ think of me.”

“I walked in to find you devouring her face; what am I supposed to think?” She slammed her hand onto the desk again as another stack of papers burst into flames. She rubbed her hand against her thigh, leaving streaks of black on her breeches even as the papers continued to smoke slightly. “I have a responsibility to see to the health and wellbeing of all my Wardens. That _includes_ their mental wellbeing. I can’t let you take advantage of Tahlindra while she is so vulnerable!”

He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Who said anything about taking advantage? She kissed me! What, you think I would force myself on her?”

Her finger stopped less than an inch from his face. “Don’t you dare misinterpret me like this,” she said icily. “I have a great deal of respect for you, Anders, and I am immensely grateful for all the help you have given me over the last few months. You’re one of my dearest friends. That doesn’t mean that if you’re an arse I won’t call you on it. Leave Tahlindra _alone_.”

“The same way Alistair left you alone when you were a new recruit coming to terms with your imprisonment and near rape at Vaughan’s hands?”

She slapped him. _Hard_.

“I would tell you to get out and not come back,” she said, her voice shaky, “but we aren’t done. If Tahlindra doesn’t accept the mantle of the Wardens, I will have to take measures against her.”

“What the Void does that mean?”

“What do you think?” she snapped. Her face was white and pinched, and she was visibly shaking, but her eyes were _furious_. “At my Joining, there was a man who refused to accept what being a Warden meant, and the Commander at the time killed him. He ran him through with his sword and left him to die on the ground as he turned to me with the chalice. If Tahlindra refuses being a Warden and threatens the secrecy of this order, I will do what is expected of me and I will kill her.”

Anders reeled back from the desk. No, she wouldn’t do that, she was his _friend_. Friends didn’t threaten each other like that. “You can’t mean that.”

“I mean every word.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath him. “You _can’t_ be _serious!_ ”

“Anders, I have never _been_ more serious. If you were the threat here, I would extend the same warning to you. Leave Tahlindra alone or I will have you restationed to Soldier’s Peak.”

He felt a burning fury rise up within him and he fought to get his temper under control. Behind him, one of the chairs caught fire but she didn’t even flinch.

Her eyes flickered briefly with annoyance. “Anders, my office is on fire. Stop having a tantrum and put it out.”

He fought the urge to scream at her. “ _How can you say that?_ How can you stand there, cold as stone, after having told me you will kill me if I threaten your precious little clubhouse? Was I ever your friend at all?”

Her jaw clenched and for a moment she looked pained. “Anders, you are a very dear friend who is currently having a hissy fit that would put any three-year-old to shame. I am the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and I have responsibilities. If _you_ were _my_ friend you would understand that and you wouldn’t ask me to place friendship over duty. Now put out the fire.”

Anders glared at her for a moment more, anger like he had never before known bubbling up within him, then spun and dealt with the flames. “Oh, and while we’re having fun screaming at each other, thank you so much for getting me a babysitter. Really, it’s just been a barrel of laughs having Rolan around.”

“Rolan was not something in which I had any say,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. Whether it was directed at him or at the Templar-Warden, he couldn’t tell. “In case you hadn’t noticed, which is entirely possible given how far up your arse you seem to keep your head, I was off raising my child when Rolan was recruited. By the time word reached me, he had survived the Joining and there was nothing I could do about it.”

He snorted derisively. “And yet you threaten to cut me down if the mood takes you. Blessed bloody Maker, Defira!”

“Anders, I don’t have to justify-” She cut off mid-sentence and he turned back to see what had interrupted her. Her eyes were wide with pain and unfocused, her lips were parted and her hand was pressed into her stomach. It took him all of a second to realise what was wrong, and he nearly vaulted the desk to get to her side.

“Anders,” she choked, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. He pushed her gently back into the chair behind the desk, wincing when she grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed with more force than he would have expected from her. “It… something is wrong. It _hurts._ ”

“Shhh,” he soothed, kneeling beside the chair and placing his free hand over her stomach. The anger within him had not dissipated; instead it had converted straight to adrenalin, concern for her and the baby overriding everything they’d been arguing about. After all, if he wanted to win the argument, he first had to make sure that she survived the argument. Simple logic, really. “Everything will be okay. Deep breaths, everything will be fine in a minute.” He ran his hand over her waist, hunting the source of the problem. She made a noise that suggested she was trying not to cry out from between clenched teeth.

“Easy, sweetheart, try and breathe deeply for me.” He sent a surge of mana through her, hoping at the very least it would ease the pain while he worked. The hand clenched ferociously around his relaxed marginally. “You shouldn’t have yelled so much,” he said, trying to come off as light hearted. “You know the kids get upset when mum and dad fight.”

She smiled at that, although her expression was still pained. “You couldn’t find your way into my pants if I gave you a map, Sparkles.”

He snorted. “Oh please. I happen to know that charming blonds are your weakness.”

“Sweet and innocent charming blonds,” she corrected. “I know what you mages get up to in that Tower; I’ve heard you bragging to Oghren and teasing Nathaniel, and Wynne used to tell me things that made Zevran blush. When Alistair whispers to me that I’m the best ever, at least I know he’s telling the truth.” She hesitated. “Kids? Am I-”

“Only one,” he said softly, glancing up at her as he worked. Her face was tight with pain, and her eyes were wide and very afraid. He gentled his smile for her. “Did you know?”

She bit her lip and shook her head; for a moment he was distracted, because he was a man, after all, and he was more than a little bit in love with her and sometimes it was a little hard not to be distracted by the things that she did. “I thought… maybe?” she whispered. “But the Joining, and Duncan’s only six months old, so I thought… I didn’t really think so.”

He squeezed her hand gently, rubbing his thumb across the back of her knuckles. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said quietly, “we’ll fix this.”

She let him concentrate, her grip firm on his but no longer distracting. He found the problem, a ruptured section of the liquid skin protecting her baby, and hastily repaired it. Less than a minute longer and not even his phenomenal healing powers would have been able to help. “It’s not great news, sweetheart,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ve fixed the problem, but I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again. Normally… most women would have lost the baby from that.”

She shut her eyes and ran a hand across her brow. She was silent for a long moment. “What do we do then?” she asked softly; she didn’t sound like the confident Warden Commander at that moment. Right then she sounded like the frightened young woman that she was.

He felt a swell of irrational pride that she would say ‘ _we_ ’. “Well, you’re going to hit me for this, but you’ll probably have to spend the rest of the pregnancy in confinement.” He ducked out of the way as her fist swung at his shoulder. “Missed me! But in all seriousness, you can’t do anything to put stress on your body or the baby. So no fighting, no training, no travelling between Denerim and Amaranthine. No stairs, no running, no arguing with desperately attractive mages-”

“If you say I have to spend the next six months in bed, I will throttle you.”

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

She groaned, her head flopping back against the high back of the chair. She shut her eyes for a moment and muttered something crass under her breath before sitting up straight with a determined look in her eyes. “Alright then,” she said, the resolve in her voice making him groan. “You can carry my fat, pregnant arse to my bedroom, as the first of many punishments I am yet to think up. And you, serah mage, are hereby conscripted as my personal nanny for the entirety of my confinement.”

Anders chuckled as he carefully hooked his arms under her and picked her up. “Using the Right of Conscription for evil already, Commander? Should I warn the King that we have a veritable Sophia Dryden on our hands and to expect a possible uprising?”

“I didn’t spend the better part of a year averting a fucking Civil War just to start one myself,” she grumbled, looping her arms around his neck. He did his best not to breathe deeply when she tucked her head under his chin; he might have been a letch at times, but he didn’t make it a habit of sniffing other men’s pregnant lovers. Unless they initiated things first, of course.

He sighed melodramatically as he carried her from the room. “You used to be such a paragon of virtue, Commander, and now you swear like a trooper. My moral compass is hopelessly off kilter, and I myself am distraught.”

Now she laughed. “I have only used fuck as an adjective once today; that’s hardly a moral quandary. What, have you been talking to Alistair behind my back? You can get worried the day I start cussing like Oghren.”

“Your little Chantry boy thinks ‘ _damn_ ’ is a swear word. If he heard you talking now he’d probably pass out.”

They nearly ran into Varel, who was standing sentinel outside the office door. Eavesdropping was the word Anders would have used were he feeling less polite, but the little emergency had gentled his temper somewhat and he merely cocked an eyebrow smugly at the Seneschal. He looked panicked to see Defira in the arms of the man she had been so recently yelling at, but she pre-empted his protests with a raised hand. “Change of plans, Varel,” she said, gesturing for him to fall in beside them. To Anders she muttered a very firm “You, pack mule, keep walking. Take me to my bedroom quick smart.”

“Just what I’ve been waiting to hear for months,” he muttered, though he was grinning good naturedly.

She grinned back at him. “We need to give the Keep a spring clean,” she said to Varel. “We need to divert as many resources as possible to repairing the Keep to make it suitable for mass habitation. And quickly.”

“Commander, the Keep is still recovering from the darkspawn attack,” he said, eyeing Anders suspiciously. To his credit he didn’t say anything derisive, or even enquire about why exactly the Arlessa was in his arms. “As is the rest of the arling; our resources are stretched thin enough already, and a reorganisation of reserves will not be met happily by your subjects.” He paused, clearly looking for the diplomatic way to ask the obvious question. “When you say spring clean, what exactly do you mean?”

“I mean, get someone to paint over the bloodstains and put a curtain over the holes in the walls,” she said, giggling somewhat hysterically at her own joke. Anders just winced and she punched him in the arm. “Our esteemed healer seems to think I will be in residence for a very long time, and I am fairly confident that once he hears the news, Alistair will insist on moving the court here.”

“ _What?_ Oh, Blessed Maker... Commander, we do not have the resources or the facilities to deal with half the noble born in the nation!” Varel trailed into the bedroom after them, voicing various reasons why the whole affair was doomed to catastrophic failure. Defira nodded sagely and made the appropriate noises at the appropriate points in the conversation. Anders placed her carefully on the bed and began to unlace her boots for her.

“Varel, while I appreciate your concerns, I can’t change the situation,” she said, cutting him off mid rant. She wriggled until she had the blankets out from under her, and then pulled them up over her legs. “I won’t be leaving for at least six months, so we can expect to see the King here more often than not. Hopefully some of those investments we made around the arling will start to see a return and we’ll be able to afford to host the royal court. Otherwise we can always go begging to rich city cousins.”

After protesting for another few minutes, Varel bowed stiffly and left to begin making arrangements. Defira sighed and wriggled some more, before fishing her pants out from beneath the blankets and tossing them at Anders. “I choose to solely blame you for this disaster,” she said with a maudlin sigh, before slumping back against the pillows. “I will not hear the end of this for days. And then Alistair will arrive and I’ll have to go through it all over again and he’ll just fret himself to death.” She glanced sideways at him. “I suppose I should apologise for losing my temper. You didn’t have to help me, after the things I said to you.”

“That would be like telling me not to breathe,” he said, coming and sitting beside her on the bed and taking her hand. He hesitated while trying to find the right words, his tongue feeling too big and awkward in his mouth. “Just… tell me one thing. Did you really mean it? Saying I was taking advantage of Tahlie?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and attempted a knowing look. “Oh, so it’s Tahlie now, is it? Not Tahlindra?” She groaned at his deadpan expression. “ _Anders…_ ”

“ _’fira,_ ” he mimicked, making her roll her eyes.

She had the decency to look discomforted. “For what it’s worth, no I don’t think that about you Anders. You are a good man.” Her eyes softened and she put her hand over his where it rested on the coverlet. “You are one of the best men I know, Anders, if not the best. You know I adore you. But you have to give her space to heal.”

His chest tightened a little at her admission. “You wouldn’t really kill her, would you?”

She stared at him for a very long time, before dropping her gaze. He felt it was best to just pretend he’d imagined the brief flare of anguish in her eyes. “For you? No, I wouldn’t. I’d have her quietly reassigned, maybe up to Soldier’s Peak to work in the Archives or something. If worst came to worst I’d have her moved out to Haven, to help the research team up there. She’d be out of the way, somewhere quiet and without the threat of darkspawn. Same goes for you, really. I’m not really the ruthless general everyone expects me to be.” She managed a watery smile. “Plus I always was a sucker for charming blonds.”

He could have made a joke about her joke, cheapening the moment… it was what he was good at, after all. Instead he smiled at her. “Thank you, Defira,” he said, leaning forward and laying a chaste kiss on her brow. He got up and crossed the room, and then paused in the doorway. “Oh, and one other thing before I go.”

“What could you possibly have left to say now?”

He held up her pants with a smug grin, before threading one arm through the leg until his fingers waggled through the hole. “I totally found my way into your pants,” he said, grinning widely as she threw a string of outrageous curses at him.

“Give them back, you vile despotic sparkle fingers!” She went to rise from the bed and he shook his finger at her in mock concern.

“No, no, no. Healer’s orders. You are to stay in that bed until I say so. I will send someone up to see to your needs and fetch for you, since you are too insipid to leave this room.”

“Give me my pants, nug-humper!”

“What, sacrifice my trophy? Not on your life.” He sailed from the room and narrowly avoided the boot that was aimed at his head.


	6. Chapter 6

Alistair made it to Vigil’s Keep faster than the messenger announcing his approach. The trip from Denerim was usually a four day trip to be comfortable, and three if you were really pushing it. Alistair made it on the fifth day after the messenger had left with word of Defira’s condition… which implied that he’d made the journey in just two days. The king, it seemed, was not content to sit idly by even for something a healer had deemed an insignificant affair. The Commander was, after all, rested and well looked after the Vigil- his presence there was not really essential.

But apparently ‘ _your lover is fine, please continue to run the kingdom effectively_ ’ didn’t always mean a lot to men who liked to fret.

Anders was up in Defira’s room, lying propped on his elbows while he suffered silently through her braiding his hair. He had spent the last few days playing nursemaid, allegedly another one of his punishments but he had his suspicions that there was more to it than that. For one, he was all but chained to her side, and it kept him from hunting down Tahlie. He had heard from eavesdropping on the Commander and Varel that Tahlie had been coaxed from her room at the very least, and they’d paired her with Sigrun to begin training. The logic behind that being that the irrepressibly chirpy dwarf would probably be the most understanding of the things that Tahlie had suffered in the depths, and given that Tahlie looked like she could be knocked over by a moderately firm breeze, starting her on dagger training was the most sensible thing to do.

He wasn’t happy about it, but it wasn’t like he was in a position to complain. He knew Defira was deliberately keeping him in the dark, deflecting his questions, ignoring his attempts to wheedle information from her and just generally keeping him preoccupied. Her words drifted back to him, stinging just as sharply now as they did during the heat of the argument: _I can’t let you take advantage of Tahlindra while she is so vulnerable_.

It was a painful indication of exactly what she thought of him when push came to shove. She seemed to trust him implicitly in all other affairs, almost clinging to him desperately over the last few days as the fear and the anxiety over her near miss sunk into her bones. But to leave him alone with a vulnerable woman? That was too much to ask. Perhaps the Commander was simply projecting her own fears onto Tahlie, and couldn’t fathom how she herself would ever recover from such an attack. Tahlie at the very least seemed to go out of her way to repress the memories, and latch onto physical touch as a means of overwriting what was done to her. Well, that was his take on the matter anyway; maybe he was just being insensitive and lecherous, just like Defira accused him of.

So he didn’t complain, even though he wanted to. He sat with Defira and made jokes and kept her company, making the expected snarky comments when she sat down to do official things that he pretended were ever so boring. It was easier this way, and it kept the fragile balance in their friendship, especially at a time when she was fighting her own body not to lose her child, and he was doing his very best not to sneak off to see if he could catch Tahlie alone for five minutes to explain that he hadn’t tricked her into confessing. And they were both pretending that sometimes, when they smiled at each other for a little too long, platonic comfort and care nearly tipping over into something else entirely, that it was just a silly moment and there was nothing to read into it. He was her friend, and it was not a title that he took lightly- he wouldn’t betray this one little trust she had in him. Except when he had to suffer the indignity of hair styling experiments, of course. That was occasionally pushing his boundaries too far. At the least, he could reassure himself that no one knew the things he endured for the sake of friendship.

Until the King burst into the room two days earlier than expected, unannounced and unanticipated, and slid to a halt at the foot of the bed. He was panting for breath, clearly having taken the stairs two or three at a time, and he looked haggard and dusty from his desperate flight from the capital. The panicked look of concern on his face slowly fade as he glanced from one to the other, lingering on his lover before frowning over the mage sprawled across her bed. Then his gaze fell on his artfully braided her and his scowl was replaced with an incredulous smirk.

“I’d like to point out I’m here under pain of death,” Anders said.

At his back, the elf snickered. “Aw, is my widdle mage all embarrassed?” Defira cooed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Worried that people will find out you like getting your hair done as well as wearing skirts?”

He snorted and adopted a lofty expression. “I am completely comfortable with my masculinity and I will not succumb to your low attempts to smear my desperately manly and sexy name.”

Alistair crossed the room, eyeing Anders suspiciously as he went before bending down to kiss Defira on the brow. “Desperate is certainly a word that jumps to mind when I think of you, Sparkles. Pining after the King’s woman? That’s weak.”

Anders sat up. “You told him _that_ name?” he cried, sliding off the bed and making a great show of appearing distraught. “How will I ever hold my head up in polite company ever again?”

“You said ‘ever’ twice,” Defira pointed out, cuddling into Alistair as he sat down beside her. “I’d be more ashamed about going out in public with such appalling grammar skills. Besides,” she said, directing the next statement at her lover, “he’s not pining after me anymore. He’s been making gooey eyes at one of the new recruits.”

He threw his arms into the air in defeat. “I cannot have an adult conversation with you. Must you always drag things down to the level of the playground?”

“You can go play in the playground,” Alistair said pointedly. “I want some time alone with my wife.”

There was a pang in his chest at the word, something that he didn’t quite want to acknowledge as disappointment. And Defira was blushing and looking away, but he could have sworn he saw a flash of guilt in her expression first. He didn’t know what to do, or what to feel; he had no idea what was expected of him, so he did what he always did. He acted the fool.

Cocking his hip to the side, he covered his mouth with one hand as if he’d just learned something scandalous. Which, really, he had. “Oooh, you got a _promotion_ Commander!” Defira ducked her head as Anders crowed with laughter. “Oh, you did! And you didn’t tell me! And why wouldn’t you share such juicy news with your best friend and secret lover?”

Alistair’s voice was verging on icy, the words all but bitten off. “The Landsmeet has repeatedly refused to recognise any union and the Sister who performed the ceremony for us was expelled from the Chantry. So at this point, we’ve been keeping it under wraps.” The look that the king directed at him would have made any lesser man sprint from the room screaming. “Now, _get out_ Sparkles, before I conveniently remember my Templar training and turn you into a snivelling ball in the corner.”

Laughing, Anders ducked out into the hallway before either of them threw another shoe at him. His smile faded marginally when he was out of sight, and he hesitated just outside the door trying to come to terms with his feelings.

Was he upset that she’d gone and made things official with Chantry Boy? No, not really if he was honest; he was jaded enough to know that two signatures on a piece of paper didn’t mean anything when desire and attraction lured someone away from familiar ground. If he’d really wanted to muddle through the quagmire of things that he felt for her, and decided that he wanted her, he was quite certain he’d have a good shot at distracting her. Was he mostly upset that she hadn’t told him? That she’d probably made a conscious decision over the last few days to actively lie to him about it?

Yeah. That hurt.

Mages were never expressively forbidden from getting married- but no one was ever stupid enough to give the Templars that kind of emotional leverage by openly admitting to affection in that way. Marriage was both problematic and enigmatic to him, because until recently he would have said he had no interest in giving someone that kind of power over him. Not to mention that Wardens weren’t exactly marriage material either, so it hardly gave him any more experience with the matter. In fact, judging by Oghren’s almost cringe worthy attempts to salvage his relationship, he would have said that Wardens and marriage were as bad a match as mages and marriage.

He was both, so it really shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. He and Defira had never shared anything more than a few lingering smiles and his shocking case of hero worship, whereas she and Alistair were quite clearly deeply in love. By comparison, he was exactly the kind of guy that every mother was terrified of her daughter bringing home.

But still, despite all the odds against them, Defira and Alistair were fighting to have a chance with each other. Human and elf- frowned upon. King and commoner- scandal of the highest order. Two Grey Wardens- a tragedy just waiting to happen. He couldn’t imagine love being worth so much, that they would sacrifice their freedom and risk jeopardising so much just to be together. It perplexed him, to say the least. He had no problem getting up close and personal with the ladies- or the gentlemen, if the evening swung that way-, but he had enough trouble keeping himself from ending up on the receiving end of a sword most days. Explaining to a wife that he was late for dinner due to a maiming was nightmarish. And then she’d want to go to dinner parties. And talk about other people’s furniture choices. No thanks.

He left them to their reunion and meandered through the Keep, ducking out of the way of the servants and builders who were dashing about at break neck pace trying to prepare for the onslaught of the royal court. Alistair seemed to have kept his entrance relatively quiet, all things considered, for there wasn’t the usual panic consuming everyone. He crossed through the great hall, slowing to watch Varel directing the madhouse of activity with the precision of a general on the battlefield. The seneschal noticed him and nodded in his direction before returning to his duties. It was a vague improvement on being ignored.

Without a destination in mind, he wandered through the halls. He stuck his head into the library and retreated just as quickly when he saw Denril giving instructions to the builders who were assembling new shelves to replace the ones that had been burnt in the darkspawn attack. The Orlesian Captain tolerated him with only the barest disdain when he was in a good mood. Anders had no desire to earn himself a glare or a reprimand just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He could hear the usual clash of steel against steel in the yard and without anything better to do he headed in the direction of the noise.

The good weather had held, and given that they’d had eight new recruits join in the last month, the senior Wardens were running them through a brutal range of drills and mock battles, along with the Keep’s soldiers. He ambled along the fences, stopping to wince in sympathy every time someone landed a particularly vicious hit. One of the Orlesian Wardens was fighting with an arrow through his right shoulder, and was fighting with such ferocity that he didn’t even seem to realise it was there.

“ _Get up, woman!_ ” Sigrun’s barked command rang out across the yard and Anders’ gaze snapped in the direction of her voice. He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, his brain immediately screaming that there could only be one person that Sigrun was talking to like that, only one female that she could be pushing so hard on the training field. There was a crowd of onlookers blocking his view and his panic got the better of him; he pushed his way through to the front of the railing, even as Sigrun yelled again. “I said get _up!_ What, do you think the darkspawn are going to stop and let you take a break if you get tired? On your feet, _now!_ ”

Anders froze as he saw who the focus of the dwarf woman’s ire was. Tahlie was kneeling in the dirt before her, blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and tears streaming from her eyes. The short sword she had been training with was hanging loosely from her fingers as she stared at the ground. The miserable expression on her face and the way her shoulders trembled told him how desperately she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

She was panting, although whether from exertion or from a desperation to hold back her tears, he couldn’t tell. Probably a combination of both. “I… I just need a minute. My leg… I’ve never trained like this before and I can’t keep-”

Sigrun leant forward and pushed her fiercely in the shoulder; Tahlie couldn’t keep her balance and went sprawling into the dirt. “You will keep up, otherwise you’ll end up the same way we found you- chomping down on bits of your friends and whoring for the darkspawn.”

“ _Sigrun!_ ” he roared, vaulting the fence and leaping between them. Fire bloomed on his hands before he could stop himself and he heard cries of alarm behind him. “You are out of line!”

The ex-Legionnaire faced him with a sneer. “Save it, mage. I didn’t survive years with the Legion because I stopped for tea and biscuits every time I was winded. I’m not sending a Warden out who is a liability for the rest of us. She needs to harden up and get over it.”

The callousness of her words stunned him, for being so completely out of character. Had something happened between the two women for Sigrun to turn so cold? “ _Apologise_ , dwarf,” he snarled, the flames turning blue as his anger intensified. “You will not speak to her like that _ever_.”

“She is a risk that you never should have dragged back into the daylight! She’ll never be a fighter, never be what the Wardens need to be. And if you were thinking with something other than your dick, you’d know I was right!”

He growled low in his throat. “Oh, because we _never_ hear often enough how you know so much more about the darkspawn than the rest of us and how you’re _always_ right. Save your breath, dwarf; leave the girl alone.”

“I hardly think-”

“You don’t need to think!” he roared, flames flaring around him. There were a few shrieks behind him, and out of the peripheral of his vision he saw people scrambling to safety, away from the range of his fireballs. “I am the senior warden here; turn around and walk away Sigrun!”

She stared at him for a moment before spitting on the ground at his feet and spinning on her heels. “Recruits!” she yelled as she walked away. “We’re running inverted flank manoeuvre. Into position!”

Anders stared at her retreating form, breath hissing in and out of his nose as he tried to pull himself under control. The flames slowly vanished, and he shook his hands to clear the last of them, beads of fire splattering on the ground like water droplets. He could hear them sizzling, little curls of smoke twirling around him as he walked. He turned back to Tahlie, who was curled up on the dirt weeping.

His heart broke a little to see her reduced to that. “Shhh, sweetheart,” he said, kneeling beside her and dabbing at her split lip with his sleeve. She whimpered and tried to pull away, ducking her head down further. “It’s okay. We’ll get you patched up and away from all this.” He hooked his arms under her and pulled her up against his chest, staring down the curious onlookers who were still hanging around to see what other drama might unfold. Tahlie hid her face in his robes, crying softly.

He carried her into the Keep and towards the Wardens’ wing, snarling at anyone who got in his way, murmuring soothingly to her whenever her tears began to get the better of her. He took her into his quarters and locked the door behind them, placing her gently on the bed and fetching his supplies from his trunk. Her quiet sobs were heartbreaking, and he sat on the floor beside the bed so that he was at eye level with her.

“Where does it hurt, Tahlie?” He ran a damp cloth over her face, tenderly wiping away the blood and dirt on her chin. He healed the split in her lip as he worked, the little wisp of mana flickering out from his fingertip to curl over her mouth like a kiss.

She hiccupped, refusing to look at him as she turned her face into the pillow. “Why are you here?” she said tearfully.

“The better question would be, given that this is my room, what are _you_ doing here?” he said lightly, firmly pulling her out of the pillow and continuing to clean her face. He tried to make it sound humorous, as if it was a joke, but it didn’t really seem to hit the mark. “But that would be a redundant question, because I already know the answer. I brought you here.”

“I know,” she moaned, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “ _Why?_ ”

He paused, absently stroking his fingers down her cheek. Her skin was so remarkably soft; he was overcome with the curious urge to see if she was just as soft everywhere. “Because you were hurting,” he said gently, trying to tilt her chin so that he could catch her gaze, “and I wasn’t going to stand idly by and let that happen. I’m a healer first and a Warden second, so the kind of shit Sigrun was throwing around doesn’t sit well with me. You deserve respect, at the very least.”

“I don’t want to be in your room,” she said, turning away from his hand. She rolled onto her side, her back to him as she curled in on herself. “I don’t want to be near you. You tricked me.”

Anders made a frustrated noise and tried to turn her to face him. “Tahlie, I didn’t do anything! They tricked me! The Commander set it all up so that neither of us would be suspicious.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I’d be more inclined to believe you if you hadn’t been so desperate to convince me that you were attracted to me. I’m not really that stupid, you know.” She sounded hurt, as if he’d grievously wounded her, and he had to wonder how this had gone from being an attempt to look after her, to an attempt to keep her from distrusting him further.

“ _Tahlie_ ,” he said, tugging on her hip as he tried to get her to face him. She pulled against his hold and he sighed. “Fine, Tahlie, I don’t want to upset you right now. Can you at least just tell me where you’re hurting so I can help you?”

She sniffled a few times before she answered him. “My leg, of course. She’s been pushing me hard for the last few days and I couldn’t take it- it was just _burning_. And she yelled because I couldn’t get back up, and she said I was making it worse by not trying, and-”

“Tahlie,” he said softly, not exactly chastising, but determined to break her from her cycle of anxious babbling.

“Plus I got hit in the ribs two or three times,” she finished lamely, almost petulantly.

“Which leg?” he asked, rising to his knees and trying to ignore the annoyance that she still chose not to trust him. He had just pissed off a good number of the wardens by standing up for her outside, and he had no doubt that he would have to endure a number of lectures before the day was through. It was only a matter of time before Denril would try and break down his door to demand an explanation for his defiance. And Rolan would probably try and murder him in his sleep for daring to use magic in a public setting like that. Gritting his teeth at the rolling anger growing inside of him, he sent a quick healing surge through to her ribs and he heard her gasp as the bruising vanished instantly.

Maker, he was a very bad man, but the sound of her gasp sent all the wrong ideas soaring through his head.

Tahlie hiccupped again. “The right one.”’

Crushing his lecherous thoughts, he carefully unlaced her right boot and rolled up her pants; he winced when he saw the ugly, puckering scar running down her calf. “Sweetheart, you didn’t tell me the bone had broken the skin when you broke your leg.”

She made a rude noise. “Well, it’s not like it changes the outcome of the story. I still broke it, and it still hurts. And don’t call me your sweetheart.”

“It’s a term of endearment,” he said absently, running his hand along the scar as he concentrated on the tissue beneath the skin. He could have sworn she shivered as his fingers brushed slowly over her leg. “I call everyone sweetheart. Did you get anyone to look at this at all?”

She whimpered when he lifted her leg and bent her knee experimentally. “Of course I didn’t! It took me nearly a week to crawl back to Gwaren, and it’s not like I had money for healing once I got back. Why?”

He grimaced; this news was likely to kill any sort of affection she held for him in remarkably short order. “Because the bone has set wrong,” he said, resting his hand on her ankle and looking back up at her. Their eyes caught and held for a moment, finally able to look at her without her looking away in anger or panic. For a moment, he just marvelled at her eyes, so disarmingly pretty and so very expressive. But then duty called him back to the moment; he was tense as he said softly, “I can fix it, but I need to break the bone first to set it back in the right place.”

She sat up quickly and immediately scooted out of his reach, fear dancing through her eyes. “What? No! You don’t mean that, do you?”

He followed her, coming to a stop in front of her and putting his hands on either side of her on the mattress. His expression was as gentle as he could make it. “It will bother you much less if the bone is sitting in the correct place; there will be less strain against the muscles and less pressure on the leg in general. You’ll be able to walk without the limp, and it shouldn’t pain you when you exert yourself like it is now.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I have to break the bone, Tahlie,” he said softly. “That’s not going to be pleasant by any stretch of the imagination.”

She shut her eyes with a moan and dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t want any of this,” she whispered from between her fingers. Her shoulders shook as if she was crying again. “I don’t want to be a Grey Warden. I don’t want to be a hero. I just wanted a quiet life with friends and a family of my own. I didn’t want these nightmares and these responsibilities. I just-”

“Tahlie,” he said, putting his arms around her and pulling her against him. She fell into him with a wail, fingers buried in his robes as she clung to him. He could feel her tears on his throat. “Tahlie, it’s okay. I know how you feel.”

“No, you _don’t_ ,” she said pulling away enough to look at him. Her eyes were so very haunted; her mouth was so very close to his. Her nose brushed his as she spoke. “You don’t know the things I’ve lived through. I know all Wardens have the nightmares, but mine haunt me while I wake as well because I know how much worse reality is to the dreams. I’ve hardly lifted a sword in my life, and now I’m berated and belittled for failing to pick up on the complexities of swordplay immediately. I can’t ever be a _mother_ ,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “All I wanted was little things. Instead I have to spend my life chasing down the monsters that plague me whether I’m sleeping or waking. Don’t tell me you understand what that feels like.”

Anger and bitterness at a lifetime of being denied _little things_ fought to break free. “Tahlie, I’ve spent my life being told I’m halfway to being an abomination. I’ve had people tell me I should have been drowned at birth, as if I were an unwanted pet. People despise me, without even knowing who I am, simply because of what I am. I’ve been locked away my entire life, so I’ve never even thought I would have a chance at the things you dreamed of.” His hands slid up her hips to rest on her waist and tug her a little closer. He tried not to notice how her knees rested on either side of his hips, how her body was pressed intimately up against his. She never fought him, always moulded willingly against him, her body warm and alluring as she fit against him. If she was breathing a little faster, it was hard to tell- he knew he was suddenly feeling vastly affected. “I know things have been bad these last few months, but don’t write this off before it begins. You can make this your home, and you can make friends and family here. Please, Tahlie, don’t give up yet.”

She bit her lip, tears still streaming down her face. “Anders, why must you make this so much harder?” she murmured.

“I’m not trying to make it harder for you. I’m trying to help you.”

“Exactly,” she said, then put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet her lips.

He groaned and dug his fingers into her hips, anchoring her to him. Maker, he had no idea why he found Tahlie so intriguing, but bloody hell she tasted good. She was sweet, but the salt from her tears provided a fascinating counterpoint to her flavour. Her other hand crept up to his face until she was clinging to him with both hands, kissing him with a boldness that was fiercely arousing. He made a sweep of her lips with his tongue and she opened to him immediately. Her hands ran up his neck and into his hair- and froze.

He felt her tense and he opened his eyes to see hers fly open in surprise. She wrenched her lips away from his, panting for breath as her gaze flicked from his and up to his hair.

“Anders,” she panted, trying visibly to get herself under control, “why is your hair braided into pigtails?”


	7. Chapter 7

After fixing his hair, Anders left Tahlie to rest- in _his_ bed, he thought somewhat smugly- and went to hunt down Defira to explain his version of events before someone else went tattling. It was somewhat disconcerting, the extent to which he simply _needed_ to protect Tahlie, no questions asked. Was it her innocence that appealed to him, the way that she seemed so very genuine and pure despite the darkness that plagued her? Or was it the inherent strength she displayed by still being sane after all she had endured, that he just simply wanted to give her five minutes of peace without the need to be strong?

Or was it just as Sigrun had sneered in the training yard, that he found her attractive and was going out of his way to lure her into bed with him? He’d done some fairly stupid things before just to impress a potential lover, but staring down an armed and angry Grey Warden was very easily in the top three. And he would have rolled his eyes and sneered back at Sigrun for even suggesting he might be so smitten, but for once he couldn’t really find a way to explain his feelings that couldn’t be summed up calling it an infatuation. If it weren’t for the Commander’s warning still ringing in his ears, he probably would have been a little more aggressive in his pursuit of her.

He didn’t have to look hard to find the Commander. He found her in her rooms, wrapped in what seemed like half a dozen blankets while tucked into a massive wingback chair by the fire. She looked ridiculously tiny, swathed in so many layers of fabric, and when he entered the room she glanced up from her book and subtly rolled her eyes at him when he smirked. Alistair was sitting at her desk engrossed in a stack of paperwork.

“So I came to talk to the Commander,” he said, directing his conversation at Alistair, “but all I see is you and a pile of laundry. Can you tell me where she is?”

“Come closer, darling Anders, so that I can kick you,” she said with a scowl.

He pretended to skitter back in a panic. “No kicking! The handsome mage is officially adding that to the list of forbidden activities for grumpy pregnant Commanders.” He paused, then added “And asking Chantry Boy to do it is against the rules too.”

“Disrespecting the king is treason,” Alistair said mildly without looking up from his papers.

“What do you want, Anders?” Defira asked, putting her book down on the side table. “Please let it be something distracting. I am so _bored_.”

Behind her Alistair snickered quite tellingly. “You weren’t bored half an hour ago.”

When she blushed bright red Anders clapped his hands over his ears. “Ah! None of that! Filthy sexual innuendo can wait until after my innocent ears have left the vicinity!”

She settled a flat stare at him, her lips twitching from the smirk she was suppressing. “You are the last person I think of when I think of innocent, Anders.”

“Doesn’t matter! New rule!” He stopped and looked around the room, hands on his hips. “A thought occurs. Where is Duncan?” he asked, referring to their son and the possible future king.

Alistair looked up for the first time, glancing up for a moment and giving him a once over before going back to his paperwork. “He’s on his way. Teagan is bringing him later in the week, at a more, uh, sedate pace than I was willing to travel at. Why? Looking to steal my son’s affections as well as my wife’s?”

Anders couldn’t tell if that glance was insulting or not. Was he being assessed as a rival and summarily dismissed? “And reveal my devious plans to you? Never!”

Defira twisted to look over the back of the chair at Alistair. “Darling, you are far too jealous for a man who was stalked across the country by a crazy lover until he relented and took her back.”

He snorted. “Oh, you did not stalk me. You were perfectly rational about the fact that I was an arse and tried to end things while you were pregnant and trying to lead an army against the archdemon. I just keep expecting you to realise what an idiot I am and break my heart instead.”

“That’s a lie,” Anders said to her in an exaggerated whisper. “He’s just terrified of you. After you punched the archdemon to death with your bare fists, he’s worried what you’ll do to his frail, human body if he leaves you.”

Defira arched an eyebrow. “What haven’t I done to his frail human body?” she said in a lewdly suggestive tone.

“You’re breaking the rules!” Anders yelled, clapping his hands over his ears yet again.

The two lovers laughed at his discomfort and shared a look before Defira turned back to Anders with a smile. “So, smut aside, what can I do for you?”

He flopped down into the seat opposite her, stretching his lanky frame out until his feet came to rest beside hers. “I had a run in with Sigrun,” he said, seeing no reason to dance around the issue. “We may have had a very loud argument in front of half of the inhabitants of the Keep. And she might have had her daggers out and I may have pulled rank and threatened her with fire. Possibly. Maybe. Figured it was better for you to hear it from me than as slanderous hearsay.”

Defira blinked and then sighed, running a hand over her eyes. “I can’t take my eyes off you for five minutes,” she muttered. “Fine then. Tell me what you did this time.”

“I would like to point out that this is my first argument with Sigrun, therefore I don’t believe I’ve really earned your censuring tone.”

“Yes, but the number of times your name has turned up in reports followed by the words Rolan, or Nathaniel, or Oghren, or kitchen staff, or practical joke, or on fire, or naked, or female washroom, or drinking contest…” She trailed off, counting the items down on her hand. “I’m sure you get the picture. If you don’t, I can continue. So really I think I’m perfectly justified in being suspicious.”

Anders shrugged. There wasn’t really anything he could say to dispute that, after all. “It was about Tahlie,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Who’s Tahlie?” Alistair asked from the desk.

“The girl warden who has Anders tripping over moonbeams,” Defira said with a smirk. “Alright then, what happened to have the two of you arguing about her?”

Despite himself, Anders grew angry at her casual tone. “Sigrun called her a darkspawn whore,” he said shortly.

Something dark flickered in Defira’s eyes, the same something he’d seen a few days earlier when she’d warned him to leave Tahlie alone. “She said what?”

He found himself sitting forward in the chair, gripping the arms so fiercely he was convinced he heard the wooden frame crack under his fingers. “She pushed her too hard in training and when she couldn’t fight anymore, Sigrun abused her. She _humiliated_ her in front of everyone. I told her to stand down and things got out of hand.”

Defira and Alistair were very quiet after his outburst. They glanced at each other, before she sat forward. “Did Rolan see you threaten her with magic?” she asked hesitantly, genuine fear lurking in the depths of her eyes.

She obviously meant the words out of concern for what the Templar might do to him in retaliation, but it had the opposite effect on him. “Who gives a fuck if Rolan saw me?” he snarled, going to climb to his feet. “I’d do it again even if he was the one threatening Tahlie. Maker, I wouldn’t even stop if he was-”

“Easy, easy!” Defira’s eyes were wide and slightly panicked; she gestured somewhat frantically for him to sit, taking a deep breath when he complied irately. “I’ll have words with Sigrun, and with Rolan,” she said gently, laying her hand over his. “Is… Tahlie alright?”

Unlike the previous question, this one did manage to soothe him somewhat. “She’s sleeping in my room,” he said, calming marginally as he pictured her soft and pliant in his bed. “Sigrun had roughed her up before I got to them, and she was in a lot of pain. I’ve healed her but I need to ask a favour.”

“Anything,” she said instantly.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, inhaling forcefully through his nose as he continued to struggle with the anger bubbling in his veins. “Did you hear her whole story, when you were listening at the door?” She nodded and he tried not to get indignant at that. It hurt him to think that Tahlie’s private tragedies, which she had deliberately entrusted to no one but him, could have been discussed very openly by the senior Wardens several times over in the past week. The Commander was just doing her job, after all. “Her broken leg was worse than she let on and nobody in the infirmary mentioned anything about it in her file when we brought her back. The bone broke the skin, and she walked on it before it was properly healed. And she didn’t have money for medicine or healing when she got back to Gwaren, so she just left it to heal by itself.”

“That does _not_ sound pleasant,” Defira said, wincing in sympathy. “I broke my leg in the Brecilian Forest when we were dealing with the werewolves. And that was just from my own stupidity, falling down a slope because I was talking over my shoulder and not looking where I was going. But that just sounds… ow.”

“It hasn’t healed properly,” he said, fingers digging into the chair as he thought of the pain she must have gone through. Maker, but this girl was under his skin and he didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He wasn’t used to feeling so attached to something… well, something that wasn’t small and furry and fond of purring. “To fix it, I’m going to have to break it first and set it again. I need someone to hold her down while I do it, because she’s not-”

“I’ll do it,” Alistair said abruptly, standing up from behind the desk and coming to stand beside Defira. When she frowned at him as if she was going to protest, he said, “You are banned from doing anything except breathing and sleeping. What makes you think I’ll let you hold down the shoulders of a young woman who is likely to start kicking and scratching and screaming if she reacts _well_ to the procedure?”

She crossed her arms and assumed an angry pout. “No one lets me have any fun anymore.” She looked alarmed when she saw Anders’ face. “Not that I’m suggesting seeing Tahlie in pain will be fun,” she said hastily. “But I’m at least coming to be a spare set of hands. I can hold a towel or something.”

“Well… um, thank you,” he said, scrubbing his free hand across his face. The palpable relief he felt in that moment was telling, and confusing too. “Could I impress upon you further and ask to do it now? I’d rather it was out of the way as soon as possible so she’s not got time to get upset about it or fret.”

“Of course,” Defira said. “We’ll give you five minutes to warn her. Go and we’ll meet you at your quarters soon.”

Feeling awkward, as if he had revealed a little too much of his soul, he muttered a thanks and stumbled from the room. He shambled through the hallway back to his quarters in a bit of a daze, only now beginning to realise the depths of the emotions that had seethed through him in the last hour. The fury and the desperation at seeing her pushed to the brink like that, the heartbreak and frustration at not being able to help her precisely how he wanted to, the desire and the longing that she roused in him… Maker’s Breath. He’d never felt such extremes before, and it baffled him as much as it terrified him. He paused outside his own door, fingers hesitating on the handle before he took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Tahlie was fast asleep, her face much more relaxed in sleep than it ever was when she was awake.   
The sadness that seemed to plague her was gone, and her features seemed to have evolved from just simply pretty to devastatingly lovely. He knelt beside the bed and stared, taking a moment to drink her in. Her dark hair was splayed out across his pillow, so inky black that it was like strands of onyx. He brushed the locks away from her face and she murmured in her sleep. Her lips were plump and redder than normal, as if she had been chewing nervously on them and they were still flush with blood. She looked as if she had recently been kissed senseless; it was pleasantly satisfying to his ego, given that not so very long ago she’d been gasping against his mouth while he nibbled on her lip. Her lashes were long and cast shadows on her cheekbones; they fluttered gently, as if she were dreaming.

Unable to help himself, he leant forward and touched his lips to hers. She moaned against his mouth as he threaded his hands through her hair. He managed to enjoy himself for another few seconds before she woke up sufficiently to realise what was happening. Trying to be a gentleman, he pulled back just enough to grin and say, “Good afternoon. Did you sleep well?”

She blinked at him several times as if his question perplexed her. “Why do you keep doing that?” she whispered, touching her fingertips to her swollen lips.

“Kissing you? Perhaps I enjoy it. But I would like to point out that _you_ kissed _me_ last time. Ergo I cannot be accused of _always_ doing anything.”

Tahlie wrinkled her nose adorably. “You are so confusing.”

He grinned and pressed his nose against hers. “Why? Are you not used to people liking you just for the sake of liking you?”

“Umm… pass? Next question.”

He laughed heartily and kissed her again. She tensed for a moment before she relaxed into his touch. She had just begun to respond in a way that was _very_ interesting, digging her fingers into his shoulders and making delightful mewling noises that had the temperature of his blood soaring, when he heard the door swing open behind them.

“Oh, Anders, are you going to make this a habit whenever I walk into a room now?” Defira sounded amused, and he thought he heard Alistair chuckle. Quite a difference from the awkward and easy to embarrass man that Defira had described to him in her elaborate tales of their struggle to end the Blight.

Anders groaned, partly in embarrassment and partly in frustration; he placed a swift kiss on Tahlie’s lips before standing to face them. “You couldn’t just _knock_ and _wait_ , could you? You had to be difficult.”

“Hullo, Tahlindra,” Defira said with far too much smug cheer, deliberately ignoring the peevishness in Anders’ voice. She waved at the bed ridden Warden, leaning around Anders to smile broadly at her. “How are you feeling?”

Anders half turned in time to see Tahlie looking between the three of them with something that looked like alarm on her face. “Um, good?” She was trying to hide how out of breath she was; she sat up slowly in the bed, clutching the blanket in front of her like it was a shield. “I mean, I’m good thank you Commander.”

“Oh, please, let’s not stand on formality. I’d say we’re past that, wouldn’t you?”

Anders raised an eyebrow at that. “How on earth are you past formalities? The only other time she met you, you were tearing me a new one.”

Defira sailed past him and plonked herself down on the bed beside Tahlindra. “Who do you think sat down with her and explained all things Wardeny to her? Or did you think she just signed herself onto the training rotation?” She took Tahlie’s hand in hers. “In fact, we are the very dearest of friends now, aren’t we Tahlindra?”

“We are?”

“Say yes. It will irk him no end.”

“Oh! Um, then… yes? We are best friends?”

Alistair chortled as he leant against the doorframe. “A very convincing performance if ever I saw one. Darling, I thought we’d talked about you corrupting innocents in your war against Pigtails here.”

“Pigtails! I don’t care if you’re the King, I will not have my honour besmirched in such a way.” Anders drew himself up to his full height and stared down his nose at Alistair. “I’ll see you in the meadow at dawn.”

“He won’t be there,” Defira said with a wry smile. “He’ll be in bed. With a _woman_. Not prancing around a damp field in the dark in a skirt.”

Tahlie was staring at Alistair as if he had just announced he was actually a ghoul. “You’re… you’re the king?” she whispered, eyes almost bugging out of her head. “As in, the actual real king who fought the archdemon?”

“Hey!” Defira waved a hand in front of her face, a look of irritation on her face. “I killed the archdemon, not him! He was just there as eye candy, and even then he wasn’t there at the end anyway.”

Alistair pushed off the door and sauntered forward. “You may not need me after all, Pigtails- she looks like she’s likely to faint any second now just from meeting me.”

Tahlie was wringing the blanket in her hands, clearly only a few seconds away from slipping into a full panic. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice more high pitched than it normally was. “Is this about the training yard? I’m sorry, I just needed to rest for a few minutes, I’ll go straight back down and try again, I’m not trying to be a burden to-”

“Bloody Maker, woman, how many words can you fit into a single breath?” Defira put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, you’re not in trouble at all. We’re here to help.”

“Help?” Her panic had calmed slightly, but she looked between the three of them with confusion written across her face. “Help with what? What’s going on?”

Defira looked at Anders flatly. “Anders, did you tell her what you needed to do, or did you just come in here and latch onto her face?”

“You didn’t give me five minutes like you promised,” he snapped, kneeling by Tahlie and taking her hand in his. She was still staring at Alistair like he was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. “Tahlie,” he called, snapping her fingers in front of her eyes until he managed to catch her attention. “Tahlie, we’re going to fix your leg now.”

Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, but after a second she nodded brusquely. “Okay.”

He blinked, confused. “What, that’s it? No begging or pleading with me to rethink my crazy plan?”

Tahlie looked down at their linked fingers. “I trust you, Anders,” she said, so softly that he thought he’d misheard her for a second.

Three small words, but for some reason they rocked him to his core. The only person who had ever even come close to trusting him was Defira, and she still suspected him of being a letch with just air between his ears. “Help me move the bed into the middle of the room,” he said to Alistair, hoping nobody would notice the way his voice cracked slightly.

They shuffled the cot into the centre of the floor to give him more room to work, Tahlie looking around nervously as she lay back down against the pillows. Defira sat beside her on the floor, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Anders distracted himself with rummaging through his trunk for supplies. He tossed a leather jerkin to Alistair. “Cut a strip out of that for me, would you?”

“What’s that for?” Defira asked as her husband set to work with a knife from his belt.

“It’s for Tahlie,” he said, as if that explained everything. He rolled his eyes when they all stared at him blankly. “To bite down on. When the pain gets too strong.” Tahlie eyed the leather with a great deal more apprehension as Alistair handed her the ragged strip.

Anders rolled up the leg of her pants, exposing the terrible scarring. He heard Defira make a pained noise of what he assumed was sympathy. He lifted the scarred limb and wedged a pillow underneath, supporting it for what he’d need to do in a moment. Tahlie seemed to notice the significance of the pillow and whimpered, beginning to tremble; he’d never felt more wretched about treating a patient before. Gritting his teeth, he nodded to Alistair, who knelt by the head of the bed and put his hands on Tahlie’s shoulders. Her eyes flickered quickly from one to the other and her breathing was shallow and panicked.

“Tahlie,” Anders said quietly, running his hand up her arm, “this is going to hurt. I can give you something to put you to sleep immediately after we’re done, but if I do anything beforehand you’ll just wake up anyway. Just bite onto the leather and hopefully it’ll be over quickly.”

She nodded, but her eyes were wide with fear. With her free hand, she shakily lifted the leather to her mouth and bit down on it immediately.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Anders shuffled down the bed until he crouched before her wounded leg. He placed both hands on her skin, seeking out the worst of the scarring in the tissue and the discrepancies in the bone. Taking a deep breath, he cast Weakness over her, thanking the Maker that it sat at the lower end of the entropy scale and therefore wasn’t too difficult for him; he felt the immediate change in her body, the frailty that seemed to emanate from her. His mana swirled around the damaged bone, seeking the vulnerable point with a ruthless efficiency. He found what he was looking for and before he could give her a chance to tense, he sent a tiny telekinetic burst against the bone.

He felt it snap beneath his fingers- and Tahlie shrieked as if the Void itself was trying to swallow her up. Anders quickly cast a healing aura, pushing down on her leg so that the bone sat correctly while it knitted back together, while Alistair struggled to pin her down. Tahlie screamed and bucked wildly, flailing so violently that Defira skidded backwards to get away from the risk of being hit.

“Done!” Anders shouted, throwing a clumsy sleep spell at Tahlie in his desperation to end her pain. She cried out one final time before her eyes sagged closed and her body fell limp against the mattress. Anders stumbled to his feet and across the room, snatching up an empty container lying on his desk before he was violently ill. Neither Alistair nor Defira said anything as he wiped his mouth and turned back to them. “Without a doubt, that is the worst healing I’ve ever had to do,” he rasped, emptying the glass of water from his night stand. “Come on, let’s move the bed back.”

They worked in silence to set the room back to rights, Defira vanishing with the empty glass and now full bowl before he could stop her, while he and Alistair straightened the bed and the accumulated odds and ends that he’d pulled out to aid with the healing. As he worked, he couldn’t help but keep glancing at her, expecting her eyes to fly open and tearful accusations to pour from her. But her eyes stayed blissfully closed and her screams stayed only in his mind.


	8. Chapter 8

Indicating the corner by the door with a jerk of his head, Alistair said “Can I have a word, Anders?”

Looking up from Tahlie in surprise at the grim tone of the King’s voice, he touched his fingers briefly to her lips before standing and joining Alistair on the far side of the room. He looked uncomfortable, and he clenched his jaw a few times before looking Anders in the eye.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said gruffly, running his hand along the back of his neck. His face was red, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. “What you did for Defira and the baby… I don’t have words to say how much that means to me.”

Anders was taken aback a little, not particularly expecting this line of conversation from him. A friendly rivalry was probably the most polite way of describing their relationship; certainly the King had never gone out of his way to appear overly friendly before. And an apology was unprecedented. “Oh! Uh, well, I couldn’t do anything else. Well, I could but I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself afterwards.”

Alistair shook his head. “No, it’s not just that.” He sighed and looked away, staring at a spot somewhere over Anders’ left shoulder. “She’s told me how close you’ve stayed this week, making sure she’s comfortable and safe. I know I come across as pissy and jealous sometimes, but I’m really glad she had a friend here to help her. I wasn’t going to say anything because, well, I _was_ being pissy and jealous, but seeing how you took care of Tahlindra made me realise I had to be a man about it. So, for what it’s worth, thank you. For being there for Defira.”

Feeling awkward, because generally in his opinion heart to heart conversations were best left to moments late at night when both participants were drunk, Anders shrugged. “I’d do anything for her.”

“About that…” Alistair looked at him archly. “Do you _really_ have to flirt with my wife quite as much as you do? It makes me more than a little nervous to know that you have a pair of her pants hanging on your wall.”

The offending garment was pinned to the far wall, framed by a wooden square to complete the illusion that it was a magnificent piece of art. Anders drew himself up, buffing his nails on his robe disdainfully. “I am not sacrificing my trophy. It was won fair and square in a duel of wits. I’m thinking of having a plaque made to commemorate the event.”

Alistair groaned. “You wretched mages and your absurd fetishes.” He sighed as he scrubbed his face while eyeing the pants almost mournfully. “Well then here’s a thought- if you’re really interested in Tahlindra, don’t you think it would help your cause to pay more attention to her, rather than another man’s wife? You know, maybe woo her a bit?”

“And what would you know about wooing, Chantry Boy?”

“Apparently more than you, Pigtails, because I’m the only one in this conversation who is married.” He sighed again. “I give up. I’ve said my two coppers worth. Just, try giving her flowers or something. You might be surprised. I know you deviants up in the Tower usually kiss first and introduce yourselves afterwards, but you might want to consider a more traditional courtship- Tahlindra is after all a normal woman, not one of your usual… conquests.”

“She’s _not_ a conquest.”

“I know,” Alistair said wryly, giving him a knowing look. It was the kind of look that married men often gave to bachelors, a conspiratorial sort of look that suggested that Alistair knew a lot more about what was going on than Anders did. “Most men don’t react so dramatically to a woman they’re only interested in bedding. Most men don’t threaten to set Grey Wardens on fire over a woman. Most men don’t throw up at seeing a woman in pain. All in all, it’s been quite a performance this afternoon.”

Anders felt his face flush, his stomach coiling in horror at how transparent he really seemed. “You will not tell anyone about that upon pain of death,” he said quickly. Maker, he didn’t even really know how he felt about her beyond the fact that he _really_ liked kissing her.

Alistair laughed. “That’s three death threats and two attempts at stealing my wife in one day. That’s above average for you.” He clapped him on the shoulder, somewhat awkwardly and then departed, leaving him alone with Tahlie.

Balls. If the clueless Chantry Boy thought he was making puppy dog eyes at Tahlie, he really ought to tone things down a bit. Granted he was more than a little interested in getting her into a bed- quite definitely interested, actually- but he _wasn’t_ interested in promising a little house by the beach with a garden for the children to play in. Playing the doting husband was not down in his ‘ _fun things to do before I die_ ’ list.

But she was intriguing him. He couldn’t leave her alone, despite how much it might be better for her if he wasn’t shadowing her every step. He’d made an arse of himself by starting a fight with another Warden with pigtails in his hair just to defend her. He’d made a fool of himself with a Templar in the vicinity. He had carried her for two days away from the nightmare she was trapped in. He had thrown up in horror after inflicting pain on her.

Okay, so maybe he was a little more than infatuated with her.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the strain of the last few hours catching up with him. He stared at her, fast asleep in his bed with tear trails drying on her face. Sleep seemed like a marvellous idea. Maybe when he woke up, this whole day would be just a bad dream and he could go back to teasing Defira with jokes about Alistair’s virility and tempting Tahlie with more kisses. And none of this nonsense about love and wooing would have even come to light.

He crawled onto the bed beside Tahlie; she murmured in her sleep and he pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. Her hair tickled his nose and he smoothed it back down.

“You know,” he whispered, enjoying the way her body melded to his so naturally, “you smell good when you’re not covered in darkspawn blood.”

She smiled sleepily and surprised him by kissing him before snuggling into his chest. “Thanks love,” she muttered. “Go back to sleep.” A small hand snaked over his hip and came to rest in his lower back, and he could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his neck as she slipped back into the dream.

He held his breath for a long moment, not wanting to disturb her or encourage his very sudden arousal by moving up against her. When she didn’t stir again he breathed out slowly, letting his hand come to rest over her hip; he breathed deeply, inhaling her scent while the heat of her seeped into his body. He lay there for a few minutes before shaking his head and deciding that Tahlie had some very interesting dreams that she wasn’t letting on about.

He kissed the top of her head, and chose not to think about how rarely he let himself fall asleep next to someone.

***

Tahlie woke some time later, the most marvellous feeling of wellbeing filling her entire body. She started to stretch and froze when she felt another body at her back. Blinking the remnants of sleep from her eyes, she glanced down and saw a masculine arm draped over her hip, curled somewhat possessively against her stomach. Rolling over an inch at a time, she came face to face with… Ser Pounce-a-Lot. She blinked in alarm and pulled back. The tabby followed her movements and sat up, revealing Anders’ head- which he appeared to have been using as a pillow. The mage was snoring lightly, and when Pounce flicked his tail across his cheek he didn’t even stir in his sleep. Clearly the cat had a favourite spot to doze, if Anders wasn’t even disturbed by his movements. Her heart melted just a little bit more.

She carefully tried to extract herself from his vicelike grip, sliding slowly across the mattress and bumping onto the floor as she overbalanced. Again, he didn’t even seem to notice, even when her legs gave out under her when she tried to stand. She hit the floor with a soft ‘ _oomph_ ’ and levered herself back to her feet. Her leg was tender, but the ongoing ache that she’d learned to live with over the last year was gone. She glanced down, running her hand up under the leg of her pants; the scar tissue remained but the lingering pain did not. Her eyes flickered up to Anders, sleeping soundly on the bed, and she bit her lip at the soft expression on his face.

She didn’t need to spend lots of time around Anders to know that he was trouble; but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t already falling a little more in love with him with every little thing he did for her.

She hunted around for her missing boots before edging the door open and sneaking into the hallway. At the last minute Ser Pounce-a-Lot jumped down from his perch atop Anders and shot out behind her. He wound in and out of her legs, paying no attention to the fact that she was trying to replace her boot and was liable to crash down on top of him if he kept trying to get her attention.

“Come on kitty, play fair,” she said, trying not to laugh at his persistence.

Three servant girls came hurrying down the hallway; one of them spotted her and put her hand over her mouth, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. The other two girls looked to see what had earned her amusement and both smirked. Tahlie felt her backbone stiffen and she stared at them as they drew closer. “What’s so funny?”

They had the decency to look mildly alarmed at her expression. “Nothin’, Warden ma’am,” said the first one. “It’s just, you’re coming out of _his_ room. Assumed that said it all.” The other two giggled and looked at each other knowingly.

Tahlie frowned at them. “Assumed ‘ _what_ ’ said it all? I’m new here. Indulge me.”

They seemed confused. “Well… ma’am, that’s _Anders'_ quarters,” one of the others’ said, as if that explained it all.

“Yes,” she said, indicating her bare foot. “He was healing my leg.”

The three girls looked at each other, their expressions dropping. “If you’ll forgive us, messere, we have chores that need seeing to. We’re sorry for taking up your time.”

Tahlie stared after them as they disappeared as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. “Messere?” she muttered to herself, pulling her boot on probably more forcefully than was necessary. A month ago and those girls would have considered her an equal, or would even have looked down on her. She was a half elf refugee from a logging town on the very edge of the map who didn’t even know how to read- _nobody_ called her messere. Then there was the unsettling way they assumed what she’d been doing in Anders’ room. Was she to expect the same reaction from everyone she came across for the rest of the day?

“Blessed Andraste, you do make a great first impression Tahlindra.”

She walked up and down the hallway trying to remember which door was hers. She had to smile at that. Her own room- what a novelty! After twenty two years of living in a two room hovel with her mother, having her own room seemed like utter decadence. She travelled the length of the hall twice, frowning as she counted the doors and tried to recall which she had come from that morning. Cursing herself for not paying more attention, she finally picked the one that seemed most likely and tested the handle. It turned easily under her hand; rationalising that the other Wardens were likely to lock their doors, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The strange man Justice was sitting ramrod straight in a chair at the desk, a book held in his hand. He looked up as she entered; a quick glance at the furnishings in the room told her the mistake she had made.

“Oh! I’m so sorry; I thought this was my room!”

He put the book down and stood, bowing stiffly at the waist. “No apologies are necessary, Tahlindra. Do you require me to escort you to your room?”

She looked at him uneasily, noticing the faint sweet smell of decay that lingered in the room. “You… you don’t mind? It’s just, I’m not used to the layout yet. I’m worried I’ll keep walking into other people’s rooms now and startling them in all manner of lewd activities.”

“It is no trouble at all,” he said, making no response to her suggestion that the Wardens got up to mischief behind closed doors. “I would be quite happy to escort you. Are you recovered sufficiently?”

“Am I what?” He gestured for her to step into the hallway and he followed her out, shutting his door with very precise movements.

His eyes were somewhat unnerving, she thought, the swirling depths somewhat hypnotic if you stared at them for too long. “Are you recovered? From your contest with Sigrun this morning. Your attempt at combat did not seem to go well. I had considered intervening as she was not treating you as an equal with the other trainees.”

She winced. “Ah. _That._ ” He showed her to a door further down from his and she gave a sigh of relief when she peeked inside to see her clothes from the day before still strewn across the bed. “I am recovered, thank you. Not without help from Anders, of course. But I imagine it is not the first time I’ll have to go through that. I am a mighty Grey Warden now, after all, I’ll probably be battered and bruised with disturbing regularity.” She said the last bit somewhat sarcastically and nearly clapped her hand over her mouth in alarm.

To her amazement, Justice did not seem to notice her terrible faux pas. “Indeed,” he said solemnly. “The life of a Grey Warden does not appear to be an easy one, from what I have experienced so far. Considering your recent interactions with the darkspawn perhaps it is more difficult than normal for you?”

She didn’t realise it was a question immediately. “Oh… I guess so. It’s not really something I’d thought about, but I suppose most other Wardens are willing recruits…”

“I apologise, Tahlindra; from your tone I seem to have upset you?” When she turned to him, startled, he nodded sagely. “Yes, I can see I have. May I enquire as to what I said to offend?”

Tahlie stared at him, taking in his odd, somewhat morbid features, the bizarre smell that emanated from him, and his stilted formal way of speaking. “Justice, are you _actually_ a Grey Warden? You just don’t seem to be very… normal.”

“I myself am not a Grey Warden,” he said, “but the body I inhabit once was. I am not human- I am an inhabitant of the Fade, what you mortals would call a spirit. During a battle in the place known as Blackmarsh, I was trapped on the wrong side of the Veil in the body of a deceased Warden. Since I had no way of returning, I agreed to stay and assist the Commander in her war against the darkspawn.”

Fascinated, Tahlie sat down on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. “So you lived in the Fade? Did you fight demons there?”

He almost smiled, a softening of his expression that made him seem much less intimidating. “I am a Spirit emulating the human concept of Justice; I did what I felt was necessary to see that those who suffered needlessly received fair consideration. In the Fade, I dealt with the demons that preyed upon your mortal kin. Here in your world, the Commander has shown me the injustices wrought by the darkspawn and I feel a duty to continue Kristoff’s work.”

“Kristoff?”

“The Grey Warden whose body I have taken up residence in. He was killed by the disciples of the Mother, the broodmother who waged war against Amaranthine.”

Tahlie flinched at the mention of the broodmother, tucking her arms around her body as a chill swept through her.

He cocked his head to the side and assessed her, his misty grey eyes flickering over her face as if attempting to read her. “Are you disturbed by my mention of the broodmother, Tahlindra? Is it because the darkspawn attempted to turn you into one as well?”

Bloody Maker, did no one teach spirits subtlety? The sick feeling in her stomach vanished immediately as she nearly giggled aloud at the thought of a Spirit of Subtlety. She bit her lip to keep from snickering. “It’s not my favourite topic of conversation, that’s for sure.”

“Why? What is your favourite topic of conversation?”

She blinked, her brain taking a second to process his meaning. “It’s just an expression of speech, Justice.”

“Ah, sarcasm!” He looked pleased- or as pleased as a corpse could look. “I am growing more adept at recognising it. It was sarcasm, yes?”

Tahlie smiled despite herself. “Yes, Justice. I was being sarcastic.”

“Excellent. I have unwittingly upset many of my companions over the last few months because I did not comprehend sarcasm. I believe I am growing better at recognising it.”

Her smile widened, his innocence somewhat endearing. He seemed rather severe in a lot of regards, but there was something so genuine about him that she couldn’t help but like him.

Her stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly and she blushed; a moment later she wondered why she bothered, as it wasn’t like the spirit in front of her was going to take offence at her bodily noises. “I, uh, don’t suppose there is anywhere I could grab some food, is there?” Up until now all of her food had been delivered to her room by the Keep’s staff- she assumed that room service was not a standard part of the Warden lifestyle.

“Indeed- the kitchen staff have instructions to be available at all hours of the day and night. I could escort you to it if you need aid in locating it.”

“Thank you Justice; that would be marvellous. I’ve never been in a building this big in my life- I think it will take me weeks before I don’t get lost just walking down a straight hallway.” She stood up and looked down at her rumpled clothes, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I think I’ll just try and find something that doesn’t smell quite as badly as this.”

“Not at all,” he said. And then did not move from the doorway.

“Uh…” Tahlie didn’t quite know the best way to word her question and so just blurted it out. “Justice, you do understand the concept of modesty, don’t you? You know, people kind of wanting privacy to, um, do… private things?”

“Ah, you wish me to vacate the room while you disrobe?” She nodded vehemently. “My apologies Tahlindra. I will leave you to change your clothing.”

Thankfully the spirit had enough sense to pull the door closed behind him and she breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost childlike in his understanding of the world… if that child had an archaically formal manner of speaking. And she supposed that he wouldn’t really have much concept of privacy and modesty, so it’s not like he’d know that watching a woman undress was a potentially sexual act. Did spirits even understand sex and sexuality? She bit her lip as she berated herself for that line of thought. After all, it wasn’t like she qualified as some expert on the topic either.

She hunted quickly through the room, ferreting through the trunk at the foot of her bed for something clean. Underneath the extra blankets she found a few more sets of the plain clothing she was currently wearing. She threw the soiled clothes on the floor at her feet and shimmied into the fresh set; for the hell of it she pulled on a leather jerkin over her shirt. If she was supposed to be a Warden, maybe she should look the part. Then maybe she wouldn’t be such an easy target in the training yard… and maybe the flat side of a blade wouldn’t hurt so much when it cracked against her ribs.

She pulled her hair back into a loose braid, wincing at the knots that caught her fingers. She made a note to ask someone if Wardens got an income. If so, item number one on her shopping list was going to be a hairbrush. If she went any longer without one, her hair would be the envy of any Orlesian Fox Terrier. At the last minute she grabbed her door key from beside her bed and tucked it around her neck.

Stepping out into the hallway, she made sure to lock the door behind her and then stepped back and counted the number of doors between the corner and her room. To make double sure, she pulled the key back out from under her jerkin and scratched the letter T just above the handle. Her name was the only thing she knew how to spell, but hopefully that wouldn’t ever come up. It wasn’t like she was ever going to have to intercept darkspawn intelligence after all.

Justice showed her downstairs to the mess hall; she was overcome with the urge to giggle when she found herself wishing she had a pocketful of pebbles so that she could leave a trail through the confusing labyrinth that was the Keep. Ser Pounce-a-Lot kept pace with them, mewing occasionally and making her grin down at his feline version of a pout. Justice kept up a running commentary as they walked, perhaps revealing more than he was supposed to by pointing out places within the Keep where other Wardens slept and studied and trained and indulged in more carnal activities. His voice was somewhat soothing, rumbling and deep, with a hint of an echo that drew attention to his otherworldly origins.

The mess hall was relatively empty, with three Wardens talking quietly at the far end of the room while another stood at a table along the wall laden with food. Justice followed her over to the food and stood almost unnervingly close while she picked up a plate and stared at the rich variety of edibles before her. After having spent most of her life waking up and not knowing if she would eat at any point during the day, the food lain out seemed like opulence.

The Warden filling his plate glanced over at her and gave a small smile. “Justice,” he said in way of greeting, his voice gravelly. He nodded to her. “Tahlindra.”

She paused and looked at him, trying desperately to find a name to match the face. “I’m sorry… have we been introduced yet? If so, I’m really very sorry, but I don’t-”

He smiled again, the gesture nothing more than a twitch of his lips. “We were not introduced as such. My name is Nathaniel. I was speaking to the Commander about you earlier- she wants me to give you archery lessons.”

“She does?”

“She does,” he confirmed, walking over to the empty end of the long table and gesturing for her to join him. Justice sat down with them, pulling out the thin volume he had been reading in his room and turning the pages stiffly. Pounce jumped up on the seat beside her and she slipped him a sliver of chicken from her plate. “She is of the opinion that, given how little martial training you’ve had up til now and your lack of body strength, we might have more luck teaching you ranged fighting more quickly than any close combat style.”

“You’re worried about my body strength and you want me to pull a giant bowstring?”

He smiled around a mouthful of pie. “There are just as many styles of bows as there are swords or daggers,” he said. “If you’re happy to go down to the yard with me after this, we can get started straight away and test you out on a few. It shouldn’t take us long, and you’d be less likely to find yourself on the receiving end of any criticism if we can get you confident with it quickly.”

Tahlie flushed and stared down at her plate, willing the tears in her eyes not to spill. She bit down forcefully on her bread roll to hide how her chin trembled.

“For what it’s worth, I think what Sigrun did to you was unnecessary.” He said it gently, but she hated to have his pity. Grey Wardens shouldn’t be pitied- they should be feared. What a marvellously awful start she was off to. “But the risk faced by female Wardens is significantly greater, and you are an unpleasant reminder of that. I think perhaps it was a tad too close to home for our dwarven comrade.”

“That does not excuse her behaviour,” Justice rumbled, not looking up from his book but frowning slightly. “Her personal grievances should not influence how she behaves in any professional capacity.”

“I didn’t say it was right, Justice,” Nathaniel said patiently. He directed the rest of his statement to Tahlie. “But that’s not likely to matter now, because the Commander has signed you over to my training rotation entirely. You’ll go out on patrol with me while you’re learning and while we’re in the Keep you’ll be expected to attend all the training sessions I post in the Commons for archery. Whether you want to go to any extra sessions at all is up to you, but it probably couldn’t hurt for you to pick up the basics in knife fighting- bows won’t do much good if you ever find yourself on the ground with a darkspawn sitting on your chest.”

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, with Justice occasionally watching them in fascination whenever one of them made a noise of appreciation for the food. Finally, Tahlie put her fork down and took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn’t regret this. “Okay then,” she said, lifting her chin and facing Nathaniel with a trembling smile. “Let’s go make me into a darkspawn slayer.”


	9. Chapter 9

Tahlie eyed the longbow that Nathaniel was holding out to her, ready to be suspicious even if it weren’t for the smirk playing over his lips. “Uh, you can’t be serious,” she said sceptically, keeping her hands firmly by her sides instead of taking the bow. They were outside, in a quieter portion of the training area- luckily for her archery lessons took place at the far end of Vigil’s Keep, a long way from the rest of yard. She and Nathaniel were the only people out at this hour, with a number of Wardens apparently out on patrol to the west, so at least she didn’t have to put up with the stares and the whispers from the soldiers and the Wardens. “That thing is taller than I am. I will get caught in the string and somehow manage to shoot the person behind me. And then just for the hell of it I’ll get a paper cut as well. _And then catch fire._ ”

He snorted ungraciously. “Just take it. I need to find the right size for you, so we might as well start with the largest and work our way down.”

She held her hands out in front of her to try and warn him off, shaking her head. “Someone is going to die if I try to use that thing. Should we warn the Commander beforehand or let her find out when the screaming starts?”

“Take the bow Tahlindra. Don’t make me make that an order.”

She stared for a moment longer, dread filling her, before sighing and resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t likely to get a better offer. She could go back to Sigrun… and see how much worse it could get with the female dwarf, or she could attach herself to the Captain and wait to see how long it took for him to make her burst into tears. Or Rolan, with his incessant staring and his creepy smiles; Maker, the Wardens were just fit to bursting with marvellous new friends for her to buddy up to, weren’t they?

Muttering under her breath, Tahlie took the longbow, surprised by how heavy it was. It was just a stick with a string attached, after all. Nathaniel anticipated her question, for he said “It’s made of heartwood, and see the grip here? That’s dragon bone; neither of them are particularly light materials at the best of times. They are, however, very durable and able to withstand the high pressure that a bow like this demands. If you made a bow this size from elm or ash, it would snap in half when you tried to draw it.”

“Does that make it good? Being stronger, I mean?”

“It can kill a werewolf from over a hundred paces. But it’s a slow weapon, mostly as it’s so hard to draw, so it’s not ideal in the heat of battle. Give it a go- see if you can do it.”

Looking about first to make sure that no one was watching her imminent embarrassment, Tahlie hefted the bow and tried to mimic the stance she had seen archers take. She hooked her fingers around the string and tugged- it didn’t move. Frowning, she pulled harder. It still didn’t move.

Planting her feet firmly, she grabbed it with her whole fist and wrenched backwards with all her strength. A moment later, the bow was on the ground and Tahlie was howling and clutching her hand to her chest as blood ran down her palm. Nathaniel, Maker take his blasted hide, was laughing uproariously, the kind of laughter that made one double over from the force of it, and he was clutching at his sides and bracing himself on his knees just to stop himself from falling over.

She decided it probably would not do her any good if she kicked a senior Warden in the shins. No matter how much he deserved it.

“ _There_ is your paper cut, Tahlindra,” he said, grinning broadly and chuckling under his breath as he slowly recovered himself. He gestured for her to give him her hand; after glaring fiercely at him she reluctantly complied. “A bow can be quite deadly to the user if you aren’t careful,” he said, uncurling her fingers and inspecting the slash that ran across her finger pads. He pulled a bandage from a pack at his feet along with a vial of some sludgy looking poultice. Tipping the muck onto her open palm, he wound the cloth around her hand before curling her fingers back over to protect them and then released it. “That’s fairly potent- you should be healed in five or ten minutes.”

She scowled and hugged her hand to her chest, resisting the urge to pout. “So, first lesson of the day would be don’t ever trust a Howe?”

Something flickered in his eyes and the laughter died instantly. It was so obvious that she’d hit a nerve, but she had no idea how to apologise for her words, or ask him about it; she’d only known him for the better part of an hour, after all, and she hardly thought he was going to open his heart and soul to her just because she asked. The air between them turned brittle as Nathaniel collected the heartwood bow from the ground and rubbed a smear of dirt from the shaft with his thumb. His expression was sombre as he said, “The lesson is to always know how to handle your weapon, or you will do more damage to yourself than to the enemy. This is probably the most powerful bow in the armoury here- it was a commission piece and so far the only people who have managed to draw it are myself, and Warden Captain Denril. I wasn’t expecting you to have any luck with it but it certainly gives me an idea of what I’m working with.”

“An idiot?” she scowled.

“Not necessarily,” he said, picking up another bow from the table beside them. He didn’t smile as she’d hoped, her attempt at deflecting his sour mood a failure if the cold set to his eyes was anything to go by. Resisting the urge to sigh, she instead turned her attention to the bow that he held out. This one was blessedly smaller; maybe only half the size of the monstrosity that had sliced open her hand. “I’m actually going to start you on a shortbow. Since you’ve never trained in archery before, you just won’t have the upper body strength to work with the larger bows. Maybe in a couple of months you can have another go at the Heartwood bow, but for now we’ll get you working with something much faster and much more portable.”

He handed her the bow and she fumbled for it with her bandaged hand. The next fifteen minutes were spent without her having to attempt to draw the blessed thing, thank the Maker; instead Nathaniel walked her through her posture and where to put her feet and how to hold her fingers. He informed her with a sigh that she had the worst stance he had ever seen and was in possession of two left feet. While she didn’t really understand the expression at first, after falling in the dirt three times while trying to emulate the way he stood, she had to agree that perhaps she wasn’t the best potential archer.

While they worked, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to take his measure. He relaxed quite significantly as they went along, her lapse clearly either forgiven or forgotten. He had smiled at her several times, and laughed once more, but all in all he seemed rather severe compared to the other Wardens that she’d met so far. He held himself rather formally, and his speech was almost as measured as Justice’s. The few times that he had to put his hands on her to turn her hip or adjust her shoulders marginally, she blushed but he was nothing but a gentleman. He was perhaps a little cool; she quickly corrected herself, deciding he was simply reserved, as if he were holding a great deal of himself back.

He was rather handsome, she supposed, although he would be more so if he made an effort to smile more often. She nearly giggled when she considered asking him how he managed his hair, and if he had a hairbrush she could borrow.

“Alright, let’s look at your hand,” he said finally, startling her from her ridiculous train of thought. He removed the bandages and judged the healing to be sufficient for her to continue. “Try and pull back on the bow- don’t worry, this isn’t a trick. A shortbow has much more give in it than a longbow, and this one particularly is made from sylvanwood which is much springier than heartwood. It might strain you at first, but you should be able to manage it.”

Hesitantly, she flexed her bad hand, noting that the wound had not healed entirely but at least seemed like it had been done several days ago instead of twenty minutes ago. Hoping she didn’t make a complete fool of herself a second time around, she lifted the bow and tried her best to adopt the stance Nathaniel had gone to such pains to teach her. She ran through the list in her head as she corrected each part of her body. _Right foot at more of a right angle, shoulders back, don’t twist my hips so much, chin up-_

“Not bad, Warden,” Nathaniel said approvingly. “You might not kill yourself if we let you have an arrow now. Ready to try?”

Tahlie took the arrow from him nervously as he launched into another lecture, explaining how to sit the fletch between her fingers while she drew the string back and how to find the right place on the rest to line up the arrow head. He had to adjust her hands a few times, leaning in close to her and making her blush again, but he finally announced that she was free to try and hit the target at the other end of the field.

Biting her tongue to try and steady her nerves, Tahlie lined up the arrow while she tried to aim for the wooden shield without shaking too much. She let the arrow fly; there was a twang near her ear and a quick pain in her wrist, but she was too preoccupied with the path of the arrow to notice. She clapped her hands in delight when she saw that it was lodged on the far rim of the shield- far from a perfect shot, but she was ecstatic just to have hit it at all.

“You are remarkably accident prone, Tahlindra,” Nathaniel said, drawing her back to herself. The pain in her wrist throbbed, and she glanced down and winced. There was a wicked looking gash along the skin- not very deep, and certainly more visually impressive than actually worrying. “Although I should have thought of getting you a pair of arm braces from the armoury before we started training. My apologies.”

“It’s no worry,” she said, pulling the used bandage from her pocket and wrapping it around her wrist.

“I suppose I have sufficiently injured you for one training session,” he said wryly, sliding his own bow back over his shoulder. “Shall we head to the armoury and see about getting you an archer’s kit?”

She almost drooped with disappointment, surprised to find that she’d been enjoying herself in a weird way. It felt good to be productive, good to be doing something useful. She’d spent so many years working just to help her mother keep the roof over her head that the past few weeks abed had seemed rather odd. She’d been dreadfully bored in no short order, anyway. “Really? That’s all we’re doing?”

He laughed. “You sound disappointed. Most recruits are usually running in the opposite direction as soon as I give them leave to.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him in return. “Well, Sigrun wasn’t really anywhere near as helpful as you were, but she kept me going for well over an hour without any kind of proper instructions. I’ve actually enjoyed myself out here- flesh wounds aside.”

His expression was droll. “Sigrun has very high expectations of everyone, but particularly other female Wardens. Serving in the Legion of the Dead has given her a different approach to her duties than the rest of us, and she seems to feel the need to prove herself. There was another female Warden recruited at around the same time as her- a mage, actually, - and she fled during the siege a couple of months ago. Sigrun took that a little more personally than anyone else and it seems to have… coloured her interactions."

They entered the Keep but instead of heading towards the living areas, which she vaguely remembered the layout of, he ushered her in the opposite direction. “Was she an apostate, the other mage?” she asked. “Maybe she ran because she was worried about Templars.”

Nathaniel shook his head and looked grim. “She coerced the commander into making her a Warden for personal reasons. It is far more likely that she decided it wasn’t in her best interest to die defending a place the she simply had no desire to defend. She got what she wanted and she slipped away at the first convenient moment. Plus, she was Dalish- I do not imagine the Dales have a lot of reasons to fear the Templars.”

They entered a large room with walls lined with weapons. Some were so bizarrely shaped that she couldn’t even begin to imagine how they were wielded. The centre of the room was full of chests and mannequins, most of which were kitted out in half-finished sets of armour. Nathaniel began to dig through one of the chests and Tahlie stood to the side, eyeing the fierce display of arms in the room.

“So, is Anders the only mage in the Wardens then? Since the Dalish girl left, I mean.”

“Well, unless Velanna miraculously turns up again and explains it was all a terrible misunderstanding, yes he is. And I imagine given how unhappy the Grand Cleric was about Anders in the first place, I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing any more sparkling recruits any time soon.” He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. “You seem to know the mage remarkably well. I’ve heard some interesting stories already.”

“Maker,” she muttered, blushing furiously and staring at the ceiling. When she looked back down Nathaniel was smirking knowingly at her. “It’s not like that! I know what everyone seems to think about what goes on in Anders’ quarters but it isn’t what you’re thinking! Well, at least, I don’t think so. I met Anders years ago, on one of his escape attempts, so I knew who he was in the cave when they freed me. I was so happy to be rescued, I suppose I latched onto him unnecessarily hard.”

“The latching is not one sided, Tahlindra,” he said, offering her a pair of silverite vambraces and a quiver before closing the chest. “Just be careful with him, alright? I know he’s very charming and all, but it can only end in heartbreak. He’s not going to offer you anything more than a few weeks diversion.”

She felt her chin tremble. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself around Anders,” she said, trying to sound what she hoped was defiant.

Nathaniel looked at her sternly. “Just… keep on your toes, alright?”

Tahlie smiled at him and hugged the vambraces to her chest. “Alright,” she agreed. “Now, can we go and keep trying to make me not so ridiculous at archery? I’d dearly love to not be a complete embarrassment to the Wardens.”

***

Anders’ lip curled as he heard Nathaniel’s word. “ _Just… keep on your toes, alright?_ ” Howe was just begging to be on the receiving end of a lightning strike. Too bad that Defira had banned him from shooting lightning at fools; but if she didn’t know about it, surely it wasn’t really breaking the rules? It was no one’s business what he wanted to do to Tahlie, and certainly not anything for bloody Howe to be sticking his nose into… although now the idea of toes was in his head. He wanted to push her up against a wall and kiss her until she was perched on her toes to stay within his reach. He wanted to suck on her toes until she was squirming and gasping for breath and digging her fingers in to the sheets and desperate for him to do more to her. He wanted to do things to her that would make her toes _curl_ , her dainty feet sliding up the back of his calves as he indulged himself fully with her.

And he wasn’t going to miss out on all the fun things he had planned just because bloody Nathaniel Howe had his nose out of joint again.

He was tempted to storm in there straight away and snatch Tahlie away from him, but Defira would probably have something to say about that. Probably a lot of somethings, and they would all be yelled, and then he’d have to apologise while Alistair scowled at him. And then he would have to yell at himself for getting Defira worked up when she was supposed to be resting. Damn.

He had awoken sore and headachy… and hard as a rock with the smell of Tahlie all around him. The scent of her was all through his bed sheets, on his clothes, even on his damn skin; a sweet and untamed smell, like wildflowers. Unfortunately, the smell was not accompanied by a warm, curvy body for him to explore. So he spent an ignoble few minutes waiting for his arousal to subside, indulging himself in a healing to rid himself of the headache.

Once he considered himself respectable, he had staggered down to the mess hall in the hope that food would improve his mood. Seeing Justice sitting alone in the empty hall, he felt that he couldn’t really ignore the spirit and sat down opposite him with his plate piled high. “What’re you reading?”

Justice put the book down on the table top. “A Tevinter collection of essays on battles in the Fade. The Commander found it in the library in the palace and thought I would enjoy it.”

Anders grimaced. “Sounds fascinating,” he said, shovelling stew into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“It is intriguing,” Justice agreed, not noticing his cynicism. “I expect that many of the encounters are largely exaggerated by the authors, but it is curious to gain an insight into how humans interact with my kin.”

“We really need to get you a hobby that isn’t insanely boring. Have you considered learning floral arranging? It might help with the smell, too.”

“I am interested in righting the injustices of this world,” the spirit said. “That is enough to keep me occupied. Your aid to free the mages of the discrimination against them would be invaluable.”

Anders sighed. “Justice, it’s been hard enough to free myself. I hate the Templars and I hate the Circle, but nothing I do will ever be enough to change things. I’m happy just being free of those bastards.”

“And yet you are not free,” Justice said gravely. “Even now Rolan shadows your every move, and the talk from the other Wardens suggests that he is still bound by his Templar vows and is here simply to monitor you. Is that truly freedom?”

He stared at Justice, bitterness boiling inside of him; he pushed his plate away, suddenly no longer hungry. The words of the spirit hit far too close to home, and he clenched his fists as he tried to get his anger under control. If Rolan had walked into the room at that moment, Anders couldn’t guarantee that he would have made it out alive.

“Let’s change the subject to something cheerier, shall we? What have you been doing today?”

Justice adjusted his sleeve cuffs with very careful movements. “I have been reading the book, and earlier I aided Tahlindra to find her room before she went with Nathaniel. I fear I offended her, for I forgot the social protocols on privacy while disrobing.”

His ears perked up at that. “You saw Tahlie naked?”

The spirit frowned. “No, she corrected my mistake and I vacated the room. I was very pleased that she was kind enough to do that- I still find the nuances of social interaction so perplexing. She has the same gentle soul as Aura, and did not berate me for my error.”

Anders tuned out about halfway through, his mind instead latching onto Justice’s earlier statement. “Yeah, she’s wonderful. Agreed. Did you say Tahlie is with Nathaniel?”

Justice nodded. “He told her that he was going to see to her training personally, at the request of the Commander. He took her to the archery range some time ago.”

Anders was on his feet before the sentence was finished, stalking towards the door. He didn’t know why the thought of Tahlie spending quality time with Howe had his hackles up, but he bloody well wasn’t going to just stand by and let that aloof bastard win her over with his broody silences and tortured smiles….

“ _Just… keep on your toes, alright?_ ”

Neither of them noticed him as they exited the room and headed in the opposite direction. Tahlie laughed at something Nathaniel said to her in a low voice, turning to him with a sunny smile. As furious as he was, his eyes were still drawn instantly to the sway of her hips as she walked, the way her pants hugged lovingly to the curves.

He watched them walk off together towards the archery range, and then turned and stalked off towards the library. So Defira and Alistair thought he was in love, but Nathaniel thought he was going to use her. He’d bloody well show them all and just leave her alone altogether.

Strange how even he didn’t believe that.


	10. Chapter 10

_She was trapped in the darkness again. She never knew when they were close, for they were always somewhere in the chamber, always near at hand. She could always hear them as she lapsed in and out of consciousness, wondering when they would try again, wondering why they hadn’t just tried to kill her yet. She whimpered, hysterical, waiting for the slithering to draw closer, trying to guess where they were in the darkness, when the first touch would come. The sounds were all around her, a sibilant hiss that echoed in her blood and the growls that made her cringe and sob helplessly while she wrenched vainly on the bindings until her wrists were bloodied._

 _And then suddenly there were claws and the feel of leathery, mottled skin that smelled of rot and death; clawed hands that grabbed and pinched and tore at her flesh and she cried and begged them to stop even though she knew they never did. She begged them for death. She knew the worst was coming._

 _She gagged as rotting, rancid meat was stuffed down her throat; she choked as blood overflowed from her mouth and ran down her naked, maimed body. Was it her own blood, forced back into her? Was it animal, human, darkspawn? It tasted vile, without the bright coppery tang that she knew from biting the inside of her lip. It was like drinking death, the taste of rot and decay and everything loathsome. And she tried to scream, but when she opened her mouth they hissed in delight and shoved more flesh into her throat._

 _And then the worst happened again. She screamed and begged to the Maker for death as she was cut loose from her bindings and pushed to the ground. The pain from the violation never grew any more bearable. It was like knives, ripping her open; the only small mercy was that she could never see the creatures that did this to her. Her imagination could fill in what her eyes could not but it was something, something to hold onto and convince herself hysterically that it was just a bad dream, and she’d either be dead or awake soon, without anything else to worry about. She passed out… only to wake up still trapped, still alone in the dark with the scratching of claws on stone and the hissing growls of creatures that should only exist in her nightmares._

 _The claws rasped against her skin again, and she screamed._

***

Tahlie sat bolt upright, screaming in terror as a clap of thunder rumbled through the building. She fell out of bed in a blind panic, still convinced that there was something in the dark room with her. Fighting back hysteria, she stoked the fire with hands that shook furiously. She dropped the poker twice.

She sagged against the flagstones before the fire, sobbing hysterically until she threw up. The room was lit up by lightning but her panic didn’t fade for what felt like hours. When she finally came back to herself she was lying shivering before the fire, her nightdress soaked with sweat; her breathing was still erratic but her mind was her own again.

The fire did nothing to warm the chill in her blood, so she crawled to her knees and tugged the sodden chemise over her head, hurling it into the corner with a sob. Outside, lightning flashed and rain streamed against the window in a steady drone. Digging through the chest at the foot of her bed, she pulled out the first set of clothes she could find and dragged them on with shaking hands. Her new bow was lying on the desk and she snatched it up.

The hallways were empty as she left her room- it was too early even for most of the household staff to be up. She wiped tears from her eyes as she hurried through the halls, but it did no good for the tears just kept coming.

The rain was not heavy, but she was drenched through within seconds of stepping outside. Thunder crackled overhead, a sinister rumble that made her bones shake. Mud splashed as high as her knees as she staggered through the training yard and towards the archery field. She stopped for a second when she reached the fence, gasping for air as she fought against the hysteria that tried to take her again.

Somehow Tahlie reached the field, falling to her knees in the muddy grass. She threw up again, choking on the bile that burned her throat. When the heaving subsided, she reached for the bow at her back, standing up and staring into the pouring rain as she searched for the targets. Her arms still ached from all the practice she had endured the day before.

The horror of the nightmares flared again and she sobbed as she tried to draw the bow. The rain beat down on her incessantly; she ignored it and sighted down the arrow towards the target. She let it fly and it hadn’t even stopped quivering from the impact before she had another fitted. Arrows flew through the rain, lightning illuminating the field as the storm continued to rage overhead.

Her fingers grew numb quickly and her teeth were chattering by the time she emptied her quiver; she ignored the cold and stomped to the targets, wrenching the arrows out with more force than was necessary. She cried as if her heart was breaking when one of them proved stubborn and refused to move; she jerked it until her palm bled and it finally broke free.

Tahlie repeated the process, trudging from one end of the field to the other each time she ran out of arrows. Memories, horrific memories that she had tried so hard to bury away in the dark recesses of her mind now burned so bright. She never stopped crying, sometimes falling to the ground as she choked on her sobs. Sometimes the nightmares grew too strong and she screamed, hands clutching at her head as she desperately tried to break free of the visions.

“Never again,” she choked, staggering to her feet again. She grew frenzied, and did not care as the arrows rasped against the fragile skin of her wrist. The missiles grew bloodied despite the pounding rain, as did her clothes. “Never again. Never, never, never!” The chant grew in her head as the numbness spread. She couldn’t feel her feet any more, and the wounds on her arm didn’t burn in the slightest.

Her vision swam and the target in the distance morphed until she realised with horror it was a darkspawn. She shrieked, fear and fury fusing together and she ran towards it with an arrow grasped in her bare fist. She stabbed it over and over, burying the metal head into the exposed flesh of the creature until there was blood everywhere. She could smell death and despite her terror she giggled, the sound high pitched and hysterical. Now she was bringing death to the darkspawn, and it was the most beautiful thing she could ever have imagined.

“ _Warden?_ What in the name of Blessed Andraste are you doing?”

She spun about wildly, lips curling into a snarl as she sought for the intruder. Through the murk and the rain, she spotted a shadow in the night. “Darkspawn!” she snarled, staggering towards the dark shape. Her legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate with her and they collapsed beneath her. She fell to her knees, panting for breath that suddenly seemed rather painful and insubstantial. Tahlie wheezed desperately, suddenly noticing how very numb she felt and how light her head was; the air she managed to suck into her lungs felt like it was laced with shards of glass, burning as she hysterically tried to inhale. But she fought to try and get to her feet, so she could slay the darkspawn before her.

Her fighting ended when her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell face down into the mud.

***

The guardsman on night duty who had found her carried her into the Keep, calling out to his partner to fetch the Warden Captain. Denril met him in the infirmary as the man was in the process of tying her firmly to the cot bed.

“Report,” he barked, more aggressive than he intended to be, but it was cold and late and the word was out before he could help himself.

To his credit, the soldier didn’t even flinch. “Warden Captain. I found her outside in the archery range. She seemed to be hysterical.”

“Seemed to be?”

“She passed out very soon after I found her ser, although I do suspect she thought I was a darkspawn.”

Denril grimaced, taking in her sodden, mud and blood stained clothing. “And her wounds?”

“Self-inflicted, ser. She seems to have been practising without usual precautions, and she tried to use an arrow as a melee weapon against me. I’ve tied her down as much for our safety as for her own.”

“Alright then,” Denril said, sighing wearily at the complications this was likely to cause. “Go wake Varel and tell him we’ll need staff down here quickly. And tell him we need the mage. Then get yourself out of those wet clothes before you catch your death from cold.”

“I do need to report these events to Captain Garavel, ser.”

He looked at the guardsman so fiercely that the man actually took a step backwards. “The Captain of the Guard has no jurisdiction over the Wardens, so a report to him can come last. Get Varel, and get me the mage before I make you explain to the Commander herself why you let one of her soldiers bleed to death just to stand on procedure.”

“Yes ser,” he said, ducking out of the room with more haste than was probably necessary.

It didn’t take long for the seneschal to arrive, accompanied by two bleary eyed servants. Varel himself didn’t look particularly orderly, and surreptitiously wiped sleep from his eyes when he thought no one was looking. “Mary, get her out of those wet clothes,” he said; the woman nodded and quickly drew the curtain around the bed to give Tahlindra some privacy. “Just be careful of her wounds,” he called through the fabric. There was a muffled reply of assent.

“Beran, go and wake Warden Anders, then get some water heated down in the kitchens for a bath. She’s as likely to die from the cold as she is to die from fever.”

“I’ve already sent one of the guardsmen to fetch Anders,” Denril said, “so have your man fetch the water instead.” The servant looked between the two men, waiting for his instructions to be clarified before Varel nodded in assent. The man dashed from the room.

Varel walked over to where Denril was slouched against the far wall and propped himself up beside him; he covered a yawn with his hand. “Any idea what we’re dealing with?” he asked finally.

The Captain took his time in answering, the look in his eyes darker and more unsettled than normal. “The dreams are always worse during a storm,” Denril said flatly. It was almost a relief to have the knock on the door that had woken him up. Something about the way the crash of the thunder managed to intrude upon even the deepest sleepers, rousing them enough for their minds to wander down dark paths, meant that come the morning there would be any number of irritable, red eyed Wardens slumped around the mess table. “She’s still the newest to have turned, so she won’t have a hold on them yet. With the storm, it was probably too much for her.”

“What was she doing out in weather like this anyway?”

Denril raised his eyes to the ceiling as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Archery practice.”

Varel was silent for so long that Denril became certain that he hadn’t heard him; he turned to see the seneschal staring at him incredulously. “Archery practice,” he repeated, scepticism dripping from his tone.

Denril sighed. “There was a boy we took on back in Orlais… a dwarven boy, who claimed to have lost his family to darkspawn. He was not so very different to Tahlindra- as easily spooked as a deer, and much more susceptible to the presence of the beasts than even many of the senior Wardens. Granted, we never caught him running drills in the midst of a wild storm in the hours before dawn, but he was unsettled.”

“You speak about him as if he is dead.”

The Warden Captain looked at him grimly. “He never found peace with the Wardens. The attack that he survived left scars that ran too deep. He left a note saying he was bound for his Calling; he was only nineteen.”

Varel’s mouth twisted unhappily. “Then let us pray there is hope left for Tahlindra.”

***

The pounding on the door woke him gradually, for to begin with it blended in seamlessly with the rolls of thunder. But when it continued while the storm took a moment to catch its breath, he came to the conclusion that sticking his head under his pillow and just wishing for it to go away wasn’t having much success.

Muttering grumpily under his breath, Anders rolled out of bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist as he staggered to the door. “ _What?_ ” he snapped when he wrenched it open, wincing at the light from the lamp held by the man in front of him.

The man blinked in alarm, clearly realising too late the perils of waking a sleep deprived, naked apostate. But he drew himself up and said in a voice that only shook a little, “Apologies Warden, but Warden Captain Denril and Seneschal Varel require your presence in the infirmary on a matter of urgency. There has been an incident.”

Anders slumped against the doorframe. “What, that’s it? What the hell does ‘ _an incident_ ’ mean at this hour of the night?”

“I could not say, Warden; I was only told to fetch you quickly. Another Warden appears to have been injured.”

“Of course they have,” Anders grumbled, scrubbing his hand over his face; his eyes felt like they were full of sleep and the terror of his nightmares hadn’t quite receded yet. “At this hour of the night, it’s just normal for someone to be carousing about and getting into mischief.” He groaned. “I’ll be down in a moment. Tell them I’m just getting dressed.”

He slammed the door on the man’s face and leant against the wood for a moment, tempted to see how long it would take for them to send someone else up to fetch him if he just went back to bed. It was however too cold for him to stand about in nothing but a sheet for too long, so with a string of foul curses, he pulled together enough of an outfit so that no one would faint in horror and stepped out of his room.

The hallway was dark, lit by the occasional flickering tongue of lightning; he called up a bloom of witchfire and relaxed marginally as the hallway was slowly illuminated. The light however did make the walls look like they were moving and he quickened his pace. It would have been worse if the hallway was much smaller, but the dark was bad enough, thank you very much. No need to encourage the claustrophobia just after an evening of marvellous Warden nightmares.

He ducked down the back stairs and reached the infirmary a few minutes late; his mood plummeted when he saw Denril and Varel standing grimly over near a drawn curtain. They were talking in hushed tones, ending quickly when they saw him approaching.

“So,” he said by way of greeting, “what’s so important that I had to be dragged away from my delightful dreams? I was having this really interesting one about the Architect and the deaths of everyone I ever cared about. Marvellous, really. What could be more important than that?”

The two men glanced at each other before Varel answered him. “Perhaps it would be better if you started working immediately. We can explain while you heal her.”

Something in his tone set off alarm bells in his head. “Her?”

Denril pulled the curtain aside and Anders’ gaze fell to the figure on the bed. He felt his heart stop. “Tahlie!” He raced to her side, healing mana already spilling from him as he reached her. He snatched up her hand in his, holding her cheek with his other hand as he turned her face towards his. She was utterly freezing, her skin so pale and cold to touch that it actually burned his palm. Her lips were blue and her pulse in her wrist was so sluggish that he nearly missed it. Her midnight dark hair, usually so lustrous, hung wet and caked in mud around her deathly pale face.

He pulled the blanket aside to inspect her further. Her left side was covered in blood, her own by the looks of the wound along her arm. She was also completely naked, a fact he tried to ignore as his panic at her condition grew. Finding no other injuries except for numerous ones on her arms, he tucked the blanket securely around her and sent a burst of warmth through them, hoping it would make a difference against the icy touch of her skin.

“Why is she tied down? What happened to her?” he rasped, hoping desperately that they would assume the hitch in his voice was from lack of sleep, and not from emotions. Maker take it all, he’d just healed her yesterday! Whoever had dared to touch her, to spill her precious blood, was going to die slowly and horrifically over the space of weeks. Maybe months, if he didn’t feel satisfied with the results.

“The _storm_ ,” Denril said, as if Anders were an idiot.

Which was a fair assumption, really; he’d awoken in a panic often enough just as a roll of thunder boomed through the walls to know how much worse a storm made a Warden’s dreams.

He ran his hand slowly along the gashes on her arm; as his fingers passed, the skin knitted back together, leaving not even a scar. “How did it happen, though? Last time I checked, weather systems weren’t capable of wielding weapons.”

Denril seemed genuinely saddened as he said, “She was found in the archery range. She was hysterical by the time the guard reached her; we don’t know how long she was out there for, but she mistook him for a darkspawn and tried to attack him. We tied her to stop her from hurting herself- and from attacking us, if it comes to that.”

“I have sent for some of the girls to come and bathe her,” Varel said. “Once you are satisfied with the healing, we need to have her cleaned up and put to bed, before she has a chance to develop a fever.”

Anders nodded at their words, and then promptly turned his attention to her bindings. “I will see to her. Don’t make anyone else crawl from their beds tonight.”

“Warden,” Denril said warningly, “it is not appropriate for you to see to the ablutions of a female Warden.”

“Anders, if she wakes up and attacks you…” Varel seemed just as apprehensive as Denril.

“I am not _asking_ for permission,” Anders said, tossing the ropes onto the floor and scooping up Tahlie, blankets and all. “Tahlie is my responsibility, and I’ve got a better chance against her than any serving girl does if she is still hysterical when she wakes.”

“Warden- this is a fine line you’re walking.”

Hugging Tahlie close to his chest, Anders stared them down. “I am _not_ asking,” he said firmly. “Go and wake the Commander if you really want to, but Tahlie is _mine_.”

The possessiveness of the statement hit him a moment later, but it didn’t send him into a flailing panic. Granted, it was somewhat shocking to hear himself saying it aloud, but there would be time to think on it later. Right now Tahlie needed him.

Saying that, he pushed past them with Tahlie clutched tightly in his arms, as if he expected them to try and snatch her away from him. When neither of them made a move against him, he relaxed marginally until he was well on the way back to his room. He glanced down at her, bloodied and filthy and cold as ice in his arms and he felt something inside him give way.

“Ah, Tahlie,” he murmured, kissing her mud streaked brow. “I couldn’t even stay away from you for a full day. You foolish, foolish girl, what have you done to yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art inspired by this chapter: Never Again by Hockeyperu319 http://hockeyperu319.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d43mmrj


	11. Chapter 11

In solitary confinement, he’d had days that blurred together, where hours became minutes but then became days… where time was a fluid thing that seemed to exist only to torment him. Days that stretched out into eternity, where he tried to count the seconds passing and fell into a mindless stupor just from the attempt. Days where he had to wonder if banging his head against the wall would be a good way to pass the time, because at least the pain would be real; days the just seemed to never, ever end.

This day felt longer.

Tahlie was unconscious for hour after hour, and Anders tried his best not to panic the longer her eyes stayed closed. He let himself fall into healer mode, busying himself with the little details to try and detach himself from the anxiety building in his gut. He cleaned her up as best as he could, wiping the blood from her body carefully, washing the dirt from her hair and stoking the fire in the hope that the cold would leave her blood. He had never seen frost so pervasive before; for hours her lips remained blue and her breath barely fogged the glass that he held up to her mouth. She lay as if dead, never stirring despite the activity that went on around her. He kept up a constant chatter, talking to her about stupid things, mundane things, like Mr Wiggums in the Circle Tower, or the first time he’d attempted to cast Disorient and he’d put half the class to sleep by accident, or the sordid mischief that her twin had gotten up to with that Amell girl, the pair of them trying to scandalise the Tower with each new story.

In the hours before dawn he had plenty of time alone with just his thoughts, plenty of lulls in his attempts to sound cheerful; when silence ate at him, just as painful and unnerving as those long days and nights in solitude, when he struggled just to hear the faint in and out of her breath, all he had were his thoughts to occupy him. To wonder why he’d been willing to yell at Sigrun, one of the very few people he’d been able to tolerate and who had made the effort to tolerate him right back. To wonder why he’d so willingly jumped to Tahlie’s defence even at the expense of his own sense of self preservation. To marvel at this woman, a girl who had pined after the memory of a boy for so long that he’d been her saving grace, so much so that he’d found himself unable to leave her alone in return.

He had to wonder why he was so happy to babble inanely to an unconscious woman that he’d really only known for less than a week.

With the approach of the sun, Varel or Denril or perhaps both had clearly deemed that he’d pushed his luck far enough, and word of Tahlie’s condition needed to be passed on to the Commander. Either that, or the soldiers who had rescued Tahlie from the field had begun to gossip, and it had inevitable begun to make its way circuitously through the Keep.

First to arrive was Defira, a woollen coat pulled on quickly over her night dress. She did not knock, simply barging into the room and skidding to a halt beside the bed. Anders sat across the mattress, Tahlie’s head in his lap as he carefully brushed out her hair; Defira’s eyes grew sorrowful as her gaze fell on the two of them.

“The dreams are always worse during a Blight,” she said softly. The dawn light creeping in through the window made her look much younger, almost like a girl instead of a woman and there was real fear in her eyes. But then of course it was always somewhat of a kick to the head to recall that she wasn’t much more than a girl, only just twenty summers, and sometimes she walked in the shadow of her own legend. She seemed small and vulnerable, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle as if she was hugging both herself and her child with that gesture. Anders could at least appreciate that Denril had waited until a more appropriate hour to wake her with news of the nights’ events. “At the very least, she will never have to endure that. I wish it was more…”

Anders looked up to see that she had tears in her eyes. “Bad dreams, huh?” he said, his voice rusty from lack of sleep. _Not at all from emotions_ , he told himself.

She nodded quickly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I wish I could promise that it gets easier,” she said, sniffing in an undignified fashion. She pushed her hair away from her face, briefly revealing the pointed ears that she so often tried to hide. “Can I help at all?”

He sighed and rested his head against the stone at his back. “You can help me by keeping the vultures away from me. And getting some rest yourself.”

Others came through as the day dragged on. Nathaniel came in, hauling a chunk of wood through the doorway. When Anders raised his eyebrows in unspoken query, Nathaniel turned it to face him. “It’s all that’s left of the target she attacked in the field,” he said; Anders could just make out the faint remains of coloured rings amidst the massive gouges and holes riddling the surface. “It would take a while to do this much damage even with a sword. She managed it with just arrows. We thought…” He gathered his thoughts and tried again; seeing the stoic Howe struggling for words was like seeing any normal person bursting into tears. “It should be a trophy for her. A way to see past the nightmares and see what she is capable of.”

Justice was another of their visitors, the spirit observing Tahlie with polite curiosity. “It is not right, the things that Tahlindra must endure,” he said finally, his brow creased slightly as he observed her. His hand came up slightly, as if he were reaching for her, only for it to drop back to his side after a moment’s hesitation. “She has a gentle heart, and the injustices wrought against her cannot go unpunished.”

It was adorably naïve in a very sinister sort of way. “Justice,” he sighed, still toying with her errant fringe “we killed the darkspawn that hurt her. There is no further way to avenge her.”

“And yet the pain in her soul continues.” It was hard not to notice the way the spirit fixated on her face, watching so intently that he almost wanted to cover her from prying eyes.

Gritting his teeth to push back such an irrational surge of jealousy, he instead said “One day, you and I are going to have to sit down and talk about how justice actually works in the real world.”

Even Sigrun crept in at one point, pausing in the doorway with her perpetual grin noticeably absent. She stared at the two of them, arms crossed against her chest as she leant against the frame; she seemed lost in thought for the longest time and he didn’t feel generous enough to try and help her muddle through it. When she finally spoke she was unusually nihilistic. “Sometimes,” she said slowly, “down in the Deep, a soul would die but the body wouldn’t realise it. In the Legion, we would have this body walking amongst us, who had just… given up.”

He hands tightened around Tahlie. “Are you implying that Tahlie has given up, dwarf?”

Sigrun smiled wryly. “I’m back to dwarf, am I?” She sighed, almost uncomfortably. “She’s not a Warden, Anders, and she’s certainly not whole anymore. I just never figured that, of all the people you could possibly give it up for, it’d be a broken little half blood, you know?”

He levelled a flat stare at her. “Give what up?”

She smirked and winked, before shaking her hips outrageously. “Why, that spicy shimmy of yours, of course,” she called over her shoulder as she left. “Always thought it’d be a girl or boy who knew the rest of the moves to that stupid dance- and I wouldn’t have picked her as a dancer.”

He kept trying to heal Tahlie as the day wore on, hoping that something he did would take the chill from her body and bring life back into her eyes. When yet another round of spells failed to rouse her in the mid afternoon, he slumped against the wall in exhaustion; sliding out from under her, he carefully placed her back against the pillow and stared down at her.

He was a damn good healer, but Tahlie remained stubbornly resistant to his magic. It was almost as if her spirit had fled her body, and all that remained was the shell- alive in a sense, but only for a matter of time.

Maybe Sigrun knew a little more than she was letting on.

And he couldn’t hide from the fact that he would care a great deal if she died. This macabre dance of theirs, a cycle of healing and passion and avoidance, kept drawing her back to him… or was it the other way around? Maybe he couldn’t stay away from her. Regardless, she was here in his bed again, and his fiercest wish right then was for her to open her eyes and smile up at him, for the spectre of death to leave her once and for all and the laughter to come back to her eyes.

He didn’t know if he loved her, but blessed bloody Maker he wanted to save her from herself.

Rummaging through his supplies, he frowned and dug deeper into the chest, looking for his stash of lyrium potions to replenish his depleted mana. All he found were empty vials; one had a smear in the bottom that was enough to give him a small zing, but not enough to restore his energy. With a sigh he closed the lid of the chest carefully so as not to wake Tahlie, then immediately rolled his eyes at himself. _Nothing_ had woken her up- the small thud of a chest slamming closed wasn’t likely to do anything. For the petty thrill it brought him, he lifted the lid and dropped it. Tahlie didn’t even murmur in her sleep.

He was going to have to raid the infirmary to fill up his stockpile; maybe he could have a word to Defira, see if she could wheedle something from the Chantry suppliers. It would of course put him even deeper in debt with her; he’d just have to be particularly charming and avoid any lectures or attempts she made to turn him into an upstanding citizen.

Checking on Tahlie one last time, he ducked from the room and hurried through the halls towards the infirmary. The Keep was abuzz with the stories of Tahlie’s wild misadventure in the storm, and he tried to ignore the whispers and stares as he passed. He had to pass by Varel’s office; through the partly open door he thought he heard something about a convoy a day or two out from the Keep and he grimaced. By the sounds of it, the nobility had come running after their king in a blind panic and were set to descend on Vigils any day now. Just what none of them needed- petulant, arrogant fools swanning about the halls as if it were their Maker given right to sneer down their nose at anyone they deemed unworthy.

The infirmary was blessedly empty of occupants, and he went straight to the supply cupboard and snatched up half a dozen flasks of the vivid blue liquid. He took a swig as he nudged the door closed with his hip, shuddering in relief as he felt the wild rush flood through his veins and then headed back towards his room, juggling the bottles in his arms. No one stopped him, although he could feel them staring at his back.

He was humming under his breath as he entered the wing that held the Warden’s living quarters, taking the stairs two at a time in his rush to get back to Tahlie. As he approached his room, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his steps slowed. The door to his room was ajar; he panicked at the thought of Tahlie waking alone and disoriented, wandering out by herself and he rushed into the room… and froze.

Rolan was sitting beside the bed, in a chair he had obviously dragged in from elsewhere since Anders didn’t want to cramp his already tiny living space with unnecessary furniture. The ex-Templar had his great sword lying across his lap and was slowly running a whetstone along the blade. The rasping scrape of stone on steel set his teeth on edge instantly, and his fury at finding him in his quarters while Tahlie lay vulnerable had sparks crackling in the air around him. Rolan looked up at him casually, the smirk on his face becoming a triumphant smile when he saw what Anders held in his arms.

“Well well well,” he said, his whetstone grinding to a halt. He stretched his legs out before him, making himself more comfortable in the knowledge that it would infuriate the mage no end to see him in his sanctuary. “And here I was thinking you’d already been so very kind to provide me with all the evidence I needed to bring you in as a maleficar. But stealing lyrium to boot? You just make my job too easy, apostate shit.”

Anders dropped the lyrium as his temper exploded; he heard one of the flasks smash and felt the liquid splatter against his feet but he ignored it. Lightning began spitting from his fingers as he fought to control himself. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?” he hissed.

Rolan tutted. “Now now, Warden Anders, let’s keep our heads about us, shall we? Well, I will, but I can’t guarantee yours will be sticking around for much longer.” He chuckled at his own wit. “Did you think I was stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t notice what you were doing with her?”

“And what would that be?” he snarled. His temper spiked and a fork of lightning burst against the flagstones next to him.

“Oh please. The wounds on her arms? The mysterious coma that she can’t be woken from? She’s your blood thrall. You’ve been using blood magic on her. You thought the storm would hide your perversion, but something went wrong and now I’ve caught you.”

 _Mustn’t shoot lightning at fools,_ he chanted desperately to himself. If he attacked another Warden within the boundaries of Vigils Keep, especially a Templar masquerading as a Warden, they wouldn’t even bother to ship him to Aeonar- he wouldn’t even leave the Keep alive. _Mustn’t kill the conspiracy theory psychopath trying to kill me. No lightning._

“And then you just go and make it laughably easy by stealing lyrium. Or should we mention cuckolding the king? I don’t know what perverted arrangement you have with the Commander, but really you just make me…” Rolan waved his hand in the air magnanimously. He stood up, slowly bringing his sword up to point at Anders’ throat. “But why am I wasting time talking? You, maleficar, are coming with me.”

“If you think,” Anders said through clenched teeth, “for even one second that I am going with you on these _fucking hysterical_ charges, you have got less sense than a fucking Deepstalker. You’re not even in my top ten scariest Templars to come hunting me. What makes you think anything is going to happen the way you want it to?”

Roland chuckled. “I’m sorry, did I give the impression I was asking you to come with me? My apologies.”

The mana drain hit him so forcefully that he slammed into the wall behind him. He should have expected the spell- it was the standard Templar attack, after all- but part of him had remained incredulous until the very end, convinced that Rolan would not be so stupid as to attack him in the middle of Grey Warden territory. But the familiar sensation of his magic being ripped sadistically from his body was fairly convincing. The lethargy, the memorable feeling of leaden weights in his limbs, had him sagging to the floor even as he fought for the breath to scream.

He lay on the floor gasping, sweat breaking out over his skin as his magic continued to bleed from him. Rolan sauntered over to him, using the flat of his blade to turn his face so that he was forced to stare up at him.

“Silly little maleficar,” he said in a fatherly tone. “Just because I hadn’t showed my hand doesn’t mean I didn’t have an ace up my sleeve. Or did you think they would send someone incompetent to watch over you?”

“I had hoped,” Anders managed to choke out, spitting blood onto the floor. Andraste’s tits, this was the worst drain he’d ever suffered. Not only was Rolan an arsehole, he was also frighteningly good at what he did.

“Now, are you going to play nice and do as I say, or shall we do this the easy way?” He ran the edge of the blade across Anders’ cheek, slicing a thin groove in his face. Anders flinched and tried to pull out of his reach, but the drain still had him in its grip and he couldn’t have even crawled away had he wanted to. “If you struggle, it’s only going to make things worse.”

There was a whisper of sound, a sudden creak of wood and string, and there was very abruptly something cold and sharp pressed very firmly into the side of Rolan’s temple. He froze, panic flitting across his expression, before his eyes slid sideways to see what was threatening his life. His jaw dropped.

Easing his face away from the blade, Anders twisted his neck until he could see what had caught Rolan’s attention. His jaw made a similar descent to the ground.

Tahlie stood naked and _seething_ beside Rolan, her anger so furious that it rolled off her in tangible, radiant waves. She had her bow pulled back to its full range, an arrow notched and held against the Templar’s head. Her hair fell down around her in a wave of black coils, and her eyes almost glowed with her fury- roiling, bubbling green fire that seemed like it was going to melt Rolan down into a pathetic puddle of ‘once-was-Templar’ goo. And she was so blessedly, gloriously naked and he tried not to look- _he tried hard dammit!_ \- but when she stood over him like some kind of smouldering warrior goddess with death in her beautiful eyes he couldn’t not look.

And _Maker_ , what a sight it was! Tahlindra was, at that moment, without a doubt the most gorgeously erotic woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Do you know what an arrow through the skull will do to you at this range, Templar?” she whispered. Anders decided then and there that there was something desperately attractive about women who could threaten Templars and still sound sultry. “Do you know all the things you will feel as it passes through your brain before you die?”

Rolan swallowed nervously and stayed very still. “I do.”

“How fortunate for you,” she said. “I don’t, and I was hoping we could find out together. Maybe I should indulge myself anyway.”

His eyes bugged out. “You wouldn’t dare! Not only am I a Warden, I am also a Templar. If you raised arms against me-”

“I thought I was raising arms against you right now, you petty little man. Do I perhaps need to be more convincing?” She flexed her arm as if she meant to loose the arrow.

Rolan actually _whimpered_. “I do not fear you, blood thrall! Kill me if you must- I will die knowing I died in the service of the Maker.”

“And why would I do that?” She cocked her head to the side. “It would please me much more to see you wet yourself in terror every time I enter the same room as you. I want you to hear the other Wardens snicker behind your back, knowing that you were bested by a naked woman while you were still armed. I want you to burn with shame and revulsion, knowing that you have given two oaths- to the Wardens and to the Templars- and you have failed in them both.”

“Blood thrall whore!” he hissed, screeching when she broke the skin with the tip of the arrow.

Her eyes were like infernos. “Run away, little Templar, before I decide your death is more delicious than your humiliation.”

“I heard shouting!” The door swung wide at that moment and Defira stormed into the room closely followed by Alistair and Denril. They all skidded to an immediate halt as they took in the scene in front of them. Alistair turned impossibly bright red and straightaway averted his eyes from Tahlie.

Defira looked from Rolan to Anders, back to Rolan and then to Tahlie. “Would someone like to explain to me what in the name of the Maker is going on?”

“Everything is in hand, Commander,” Tahlie said, her aim not moving even a fraction from Rolan’s forehead. “Warden Rolan was just leaving- weren’t you, Rolan?”

He snarled at her. “Psychotic bitch! Commander, I demand that you-” Whatever he had been about to demand was cut off by his shriek as Tahlie scoured the arrow down the side of his face.

“A scar for a scar, Warden,” Tahlie said calmly. “Get out before I decide to take an eye.”

Rolan staggered from the room, babbling curses and howling hysterically. The three by the door parted as he ran past, and then turned silently back to face Anders and Tahlie. Alistair had an odd look on his face; he frowned slowly as he looked down at Anders. “Rolan drained you,” he said, wording it as more of a statement than a question.

“What gave it away?” he answered wryly, wincing as he struggled into a sitting position against the wall. He glanced at Tahlie, who was still standing as if posed in the centre of the room, the bow held loosely against her bare thigh. “If it’s alright, I think it would be best if we had a few minutes to get Tahlie dressed and-”

“There’s an open connection to the Fade in here,” Alistair said abruptly, his Templar training making itself known. “And if it’s not you…”

They all turned slowly to look at Tahlie, who did not seemed fazed in the least that she was standing naked before the four of them, her eyes aglow with passionate anger.

“She’s not a mage,” Anders rasped, fear twisting in his gut as the other alternative reared its ugly head in his mind. “I would have noticed it immediately.”

There was the sound of steel on steel as Alistair drew his sword, quickly followed by Denril and his knives. “Then what is she?”

Anders caught Defira’s eye and nodded at the flasks on the ground; she looked down and as understanding crossed her expression she nudged one across the floor to him. He emptied it in one fast swig, wincing as the lyrium burned back into his blood like pins and needles, rushing in to fill the void the drain had left in him. Using the wall as a prop he clambered upright, swaying on his feet. He turned to face Tahlie, apprehension filling him as she returned his gaze with the same calm veneer that she had worn when facing Rolan.

“One way to find out,” he said. _Maker forgive me for this._ And then he sent a burst of power straight at Tahlie.

She staggered backwards, surprise and shock written over her face; the back of her legs hit the bed and she fell down with a ‘ _hoomph_ ’. “Anders?” she said, disoriented as she looked around the room. The moment she spotted their audience, she squealed in alarm and snatched the blankets to cover herself up, her face red with mortification. “What’s going on?”

Scrubbing his hand down his face, Anders turned back to Alistair. “If she had a passenger, we’d know by now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Given that I just performed the magical equivalent of a shanking, yeah I’m sure. Any demon would have defended itself from that.”

“Then what is she?” Defira asked, repeating her husband’s question.

Looking down at Tahlie, who was trembling in the sheets with what looked like panic on her face, he sighed. “I don’t know.”


	12. Chapter 12

_A latent connection to the Fade._ Anders didn’t know whether it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard of, or if it was the most sensible suggestion anyone had made in weeks.

Tahlie was… _something_. Not a mage, of that much he was certain. And a latent connection to the Fade certainly sounded plausible, given her sister’s proficiency for magic and the power wielded by their alleged sire but what on earth it meant in real world terms, he had no idea. He wanted to squirrel her away and pry and prod and see if he could uncover this enigma for himself, and maybe indulge in a few more kisses while they found themselves alone, because surely hard work and such dedication warranted some kind of reward?

There were, however, a number of things preventing him from doing that. One was a particularly moody Commander, already irritable about being bedridden and doing her best to conduct her duties in a manner that seemed most certain to annoy him; the second was her seemingly infinite legion of minions- well, all four of them really, if one included Alistair as one of her minions along with Denril, Varel and Mistress Woolsey- who were just as determined to keep him away from Tahlie as he was to see her again.

The third and even less happy reason for their separation was that Tahlie was currently being held by Templars. And as much as she intrigued him, and as much as he wanted to keep her locked away all to himself until he grew bored of her, he certainly wasn’t about to march down and confront the Templars questioning her just to fight for the right to do so.

Defira had sent away to the Circle Tower for help- much to his utter disgust- and although he’d spent the first few days of Tahlie’s imprisonment very vocally objecting to her treatment until Defira threatened to throw him in the dungeon as well for insubordination, he’d immediately made himself scarce when the Templars arrived with their mage charges. Old habits died hard, after all. Tahlindra was escorted from the cell she’d been kept in for the last week and a half, and just as quickly ensconced in the library. He caught a glimpse of her briefly, a hint of pale skin and sombre eyes before they summarily locked her away from sight again.

But locked away was such an arbitrary term when he was involved; he hadn’t escaped from the Tower so many times without developing significant skills in a number of areas. And so it was that he found himself breaking into the library from an often forgotten servant’s entrance on the second floor.

The interviews and the tests took place in the Vigil library, a sensible place that afforded them a modicum of privacy while giving them room to run experiments and plenty of table space to spread their notes and scribblings. And even more horrifying was the realisation that the mages were not the only ones running experiments on the frightened woman. The Templars were just as interested in Tahlie as the mages were, and he had a terrified moment where he thought they might spirit her away to Kinloch Hold just to err on the side of caution. From his vantage point hidden on the upstairs balcony, he sneered as he watched Rolan verge on hysteria as he insisted for the countless time that Tahlie needed to be put through the Harrowing.

Knight Captain Lucien frowned at the wild eyed man before him, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture that clearly indicated _conversation closed_. “As we discussed earlier, Warden, Tahlindra can only be put through the Harrowing if she is indeed a mage. There is no proof that she has any kind of magical aptitude at all, so trying to administer a Harrowing would essentially be a death sentence. I am not in the business of starting wars with the Grey Wardens just at your insistence.”

Rolan stabbed a finger accusingly in the direction of Tahlindra. “She used magic on me to best me. She attacked me, her and her blood mage lover! When did the word of a Templar become so worthless?”

“When the Templar in question throws their accusations against a woman who has the support of the Hero of Ferelden,” Lucien explained calmly, as if it weren’t already the fourth time they’d had this conversation. “The King and the Hero were both present for most of the alleged attack. Their testimony does not exactly correspond with yours.”

“Of course not- they’re protecting one of their own!”

“Warden,” Lucien said warningly, in a tone that would have snap frozen the Amaranthine Ocean, “don’t you have duties elsewhere that need seeing to?”

As Rolan stormed out of his view, Anders shifted slightly, keeping out of sight and trying to get a better glimpse of Tahlie. It was the third day they’d had her locked away for their endless tests and she looked utterly miserable. She was slouched on a high stool in the centre of a circle of blue, her chin resting on her hands, her elbows on her knees; she didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the discussions taking place on the outside of the circle, or the way it would flare every now and then and the mages would studiously note every reaction in their research.

He heard her sigh unhappily, as clearly as if her breath was playing across his cheek and she weren’t on the other side of the room. He wanted nothing more but to spirit her away, to rub at her shoulders and tug her into his arms. He desperately wanted to go to her and snatch her away from prying eyes, give her the peace she deserved. ‘ _And nakedness- everyone deserves nakedness!_ ’ his inner letch helpfully provided. As much as he wanted to push that thought away, the image of her boldly defending him wearing nothing but her skin had not left his head for _days_. It kept him awake at night and invaded his dreams, leaving him hard and desperate for her when he woke again.

As he watched, she reached up and pushed her hair from her face where she had allowed it to fall in a curtain across her features. Her eyes were dull and her lips kept twitching as if she were fighting the urge to cry. To hell with it- if he froze everyone in place quickly enough, or could send them all into a deep enough sleep, he could jump over the balustrade and be at her side within seconds. And then he could spirit her away from all this, and in her gratitude she would kiss him and pull him up against her soft curves and-

“What are you thinking about, perv?” Defira whispered, dropping down onto the ground next to him.

“Why do you automatically assume I’m being lecherous all the time?” he hissed back, hoping his face wasn’t flaming red.

She gave him a look that spoke volumes. “Because it’s _you_ ,” she whispered. “You are almost _always_ thinking lecherous thoughts. Plus you’re staring at Tahlie like you want to eat her.”

If only she knew the half of it. “What are you doing out of bed?” he said in low tones, trying to distract her from embarrassing him further. “Didn’t some devastatingly handsome mage forbid you from straining yourself too much?”

Defira wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Yes, but if I’m in bed then _they_ can find me,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. She was of course referring to the ever increasing number of Ferelden’s nobility within the Keep, who had begun arriving about the same time as the mages and Templars below them. “The novelty of me being their beloved Hero has started to wear off now that they know I not only deflowered their precious King but had the nerve to have his baby and try to marry him. I think it’s only a matter of time before I’m back to being ‘ _you there, elf!_ ’”

“Is that why you’re wearing your hair down again?” he asked astutely.

She looked startled and her hand went immediately to her hair. “What do you mean?” she said, smoothing it down in a motion that was far too familiar. She always did that when she was nervous- it was a marvellous tell. He’d used it to his advantage many a time.

“When you wear your hair down, it hides your ears,” he whispered, glancing down to check that Tahlie was okay before looking back at Defira. She was still fiddling, pulling it forward over her ears. “I assumed it was deliberate. You can get touchy about your elfiness.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Elfiness? Were you really educated at the Circle or by wild creatures? I swear Duncan has a better vocabulary than you, and he’s not even one yet.”

At the mention of her son, she immediately lit up from the inside out. It was a sight to see. “Speaking of- where is he? I thought Teagan would have been here by now.”

“Word from the outriders is that they should be here late this afternoon.” She sighed, and the sound was full of yearning. “I can’t tell you how glad I am. I’ve missed him so much.”

“Teagan? I’m going to tell him that. Does Chantry Boy know you’re pining after his uncle?”

She punched him on the arm, and then nodded to the scene below them. “So, what’s the word so far? Lucien is quite politely ignoring me when I ask for updates. No wait, what’s the word? Deflecting. The bastard is good at it too.”

He explained what he’d learnt so far with his spying and she frowned. “A _latent_ connection? So she is a mage after all?”

He scrunched up his face as he sought the best way to explain it. “Not exactly,” he whispered, pausing when the mages below him made several excited exclamations. They were all gathered around a sheet of parchment rather than Tahlie though, so he turned back to Defira. “Latent means dormant. Sleeping. If it were a strong connection, it would have manifested as magical ability years ago. I’d say it probably only showed up at all because of everything she’s been exposed to over the last few weeks. I mean, let’s face it- she has been rather bombarded with magic.”

“So can she access it at all?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “From what I’ve heard them saying, she can’t touch the Fade, but she seems to act sort of like an amplifier for it. They were putting magical items in her hands yesterday and they were flaring up like crazy, but she can’t control how it happens. It’s like she’s a doorway into the Fade- but she has no influence over what uses the door.”

Defira chewed on her lip. “So she can become an abomination?”

“In theory,” he admitted, the thought making him ill. “It is possible that she did have company when she attacked Rolan. I think that’s what they’re working on today, trying to figure out what happened to put her out for so long but then wake up kicking and screaming. Most demons possess a mage and stay for good unless they’re defeated in the Fade.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a malignant spirit though. Maybe it was one of the nicer ones. Like Justice. I knew… I heard about mages who can carry spirits within them. Can she maybe be doing that?”

He found his hand near his mouth, his thumbnail torn as he chewed absently on it. “Can’t say for sure. They haven’t come up with any answers they’re happy with yet. If it was a spirit or a demon, they’re gone now. But if Tahlie is an open door…”

“They can come and go as they please,” Defira finished for him. Her fingers slipped through his and she squeezed. “It might not be bad news, Anders. We could ask Justice about it. Maybe the spirits on the other side of the Veil know about such things.”

“She just looks so miserable,” he whispered wretchedly. “She deserves better than this. At the least she deserves to just be left alone for a while.”

“Even by smitten, horny mages?” Defira asked, poking him in the ribs.

“Oh, those are the worst of all. Definitely needs to be left alone by those.”

She snorted inelegantly and crawled to her knees, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, stalker, you can stay here but I’m off to find my husband. If Bann Alfstanna tries to proposition him one more time, I’ll need to find you in a hurry so that we can flee the murder charges together.”

“And we can start a scandalous life together in Tevinter,” he whispered teasingly. “I will be the corrupted, infinitely powerful magister and you will be my exotic, power hungry mistress. And we will have a thousand slaves and will cavort naked in our opulent mansion.”

“It’s a good plan,” she said, and then she slipped out the door. He smiled as he watched her go, the expression fading as he glanced back to find Tahlie subtly wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Maker bloody well take them all. He didn’t know how much more of this he could stand.

***

Tahlie sniffed and hugged her arms around herself, trying to find a way to sit on the wretched stool without her back screaming in protest. After hours perched on the bloody thing, she had begun to wish she really did have magical powers like they accused her of, just so she could set the damn stool on fire.

For three days she had endured these tests and questions and experiments and the assumption that she was some kind of monster wearing female skin. For a week and a half before that, she had been locked away in the Keep’s dungeons. Although she knew the reasoning behind the decision, it didn’t hurt any less.

 _“Until we know for sure that nothing… malign is hiding inside you, we need to keep you away from everyone,” Defira said, guilt and shame swimming in her eyes. “It also helps us to avoid further conflict with the Templars, since I have no doubt Rolan will have reported the incident in lurid detail.”_

 _“Can’t I just stay in my room?” she asked quietly, curling into a ball on the rickety bed and avoiding making eye contact with the other woman._

 _Defira put her hands on the bars that separated them. “That won’t be good enough for anyone looking to find fault with the way Grey Wardens run their affairs. I’m so sorry Tahlie. We’ll make you as comfortable as possible in the meantime.”_

 _“I’m not a mage,” Tahlie said, her voice sounding sullen even to her own ears. “And I’m not a thrall. And I’m not an abomination. I just want to go home, except I have no home.”_

 _“I’m so sorry it has to be this way, Tahlie.”_

They had furnished the cell to make it look less cell-like (without success, in Tahlie’s opinion) and when she asked for something to while away the hours, someone brought down a half a dozen books. Too mortified to admit her inability to read, the wretched things sat in the corner untouched.

And no one else had come to see her in all that time, until the Templars came to collect her. She had expected Anders to fight for the right to see her, and she had hoped some of the others might care enough to keep her company, but she had only the rats and the spiders to distract her. No Nathaniel, no Justice, none of the handful of servants from around the Vigil that she thought she’d at least struck up a vague kind of kinship with… She cried herself to sleep every night alone in the dungeon. And when she woke from the nightmares, gibbering in a panic as the memories blended with the potential that the dreams hinted at; her sobs echoed through the stone halls, and not a soul came to investigate.

She’d never felt so lonely in her entire life. And it hurt more than she wanted to admit to herself.

She looked up as movement caught her eye. The Knight Captain, a fiercely severe man without a single laugh line on his face, dispelled the circle around her and beckoned her forward. Hesitantly, she climbed down from the stool, wincing at the cramps in her lower back. As she walked towards the table where he indicated at an empty seat, a soothing breeze caressed her and soaked into her skin; the pain in her back vanished instantly. Her steps faltered as she looked about for the source of the enchantment. The three mages who had been sent to examine her were gathered together at the far end of the table and didn’t seem likely to have healed her; trying not to draw attention to the movement, she cast her gaze around the room, finding nothing.

There was a whisper against her ear, followed by the hint of a caress along the curve of her neck that had her fighting not to gasp aloud and spin about to see who stood behind her. The phantom fingers brushed against her again, the touch slow and lingering, and she gritted her teeth to keep from moaning. There was only one person who would be foolish enough to toy with magic in front of Templars investigating claims of blood magic, one person who continued to taunt and tempt her with his attentions.

“ _Anders,_ ” she muttered under her breath, suddenly irritated to find him nearby. Where was he hiding? And how long had he been watching, privy to her humiliation without trying to help her? To have been so alone for nearly two weeks, and yet find him nearby when her spirits were so low and her emotions so raw… she wanted to take his presence as a comfort, she really did, but in truth she was really only annoyed and embarrassed. She pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin, ignoring the touch of the spirit fingers as she took a seat opposite the Knight Captain. They persisted for a moment longer before withdrawing.

“So,” Lucien began, folding his hands in front of him on the table top, “we’ve had word from our brethren in Gwaren and the story you told us of your sister appears to be truth. They also confirmed that you were tested for magical aptitude as a child and were monitored for several years after your sister joined the Circle. What they did mention, which you did not, was that your sister was seen in the company of another escaped mage in Gwaren several years ago. Were you aware that your sister had escaped from the Circle?”

Tahlie felt her gut twist. “Yes, ser,” she said, swallowing nervously.

“Are you aware that it is a crime to assist an apostate, regardless of whether or not they are family?”

She felt her chin tremble before she raised it defiantly. “Yes, ser.”

Lucien frowned at her. “Are you also aware that her accomplice at the time is a well-known apostate and has been accused of being maleficar?”

“I had heard that, yes ser. I don’t agree with that classification though, ser.”

“Would you now? So would you say it is simply coincidental that the same man who helped your sister to escape from the Circle Tower is now charged with ensorcelling you by means of blood magic? The same man whom you object to being branded the dangerous renegade that he is? Or perhaps you’d prefer to end these foolish games and let us know if there’s something you’d like to confess to?”

Her spine turned to steel and she nearly sneered at the Templar Captain as she said “I am no man’s thrall, if that is the question you are dancing around.”

Lucien watched her steadily, unfazed by her little outburst. “The evidence is compelling against the two of you. You attacked another Warden to defend him, and your behaviour after the act was quite unsettling. You showed no remorse for your violence, and no concern for your nudity, which any modest young woman would be sensible enough to do. Do you have an explanation for any of that?”

Anger bubbled up within her, laced with a healthy dose of fear at the realisation that the man before her genuinely viewed her as a threat. “A man I do not trust broke into a room in which I was unconscious to attack the man charged with healing me. When I woke to find them fighting I didn’t think I really had enough time to duck back to my room to dress appropriately.” Her words grew more and more sarcastic, her voice growing angrier and louder. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes. “I was frightened and I was angry and I wanted Rolan to _get the fuck away from me!_ I didn’t think I’d have my mental competence questioned as a result of it!”

“Your behaviour was hardly what I would consider normal,” Lucien countered. “You were naked and didn’t react to the discussion occurring right in front of you as to whether or not you were an abomination. Most would have something to say to such an accusation.”

“I was in shock and running on adrenalin,” she snapped, coming up off the chair. The Knight Captain sat back, still showing no reaction to her outrage. She felt her emotions boiling up from within, felt her chin quivering uncontrollably. “I’ve never hurt another human being in my life, and the one time I even scratch one, I’m accused of being a monster with no control of my own mind! I was stunned and f-frightened and I didn’t know what I was doing and-and I didn’t w-want-”

“You are overemotional, Warden,” Lucien said. “Is it perhaps from the stress of continuing a lie that is too elaborate to uphold?”

 _“Enough!”_ There was a roar and then a blur of colour; with a thud that reverberated through the wood there was suddenly a figure on the table between Lucien and Tahlie. Anders stood with his staff pointed straight at the Knight Captain’s head, blue flames dancing around his free hand as he held it aloft. Tahlie couldn’t see his face, since he had his back to her, but the fury in his voice said it all. “If you have accusations of blood magic, Knight Captain, you should be bringing them to me rather than ruthlessly interrogating an innocent woman day after day!”

Most men would be terrified to be on the receiving end of such a tirade from a mage illuminated by flames, but Lucien seemed nothing but pleased. “I did wonder how far I would have to push you to make you creep out of your hiding place, apostate,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest with an insulting casualness. “I was surprised; given the extent of your feelings for Tahlindra I didn’t expect you to last for three days.”

The other Templar had rushed forward with sword drawn, but paused when he heard the Captain’s relaxed tone. The three mages were cowering at the far end of the room.

Anders hesitated and the flames on his hands dimmed slightly. “This was all a setup to get to me?”

“Not exactly,” Lucien conceded. “We did need to get to the bottom of Tahlindra’s mysterious condition, but your Commander would never agree to us speaking to you. She forbade it in the most colourful terms I’ve ever heard. So, when we realised you were spying on our proceedings, it was only a matter of trying to provoke you enough that you would come to us.”

After a moment of fierce internal debate, Anders lowered his staff to a less threatening position and pulled back the fire. “I have nothing to say to you and have no need to explain myself. Templars have no jurisdiction over Wardens.”

“But, we do have a responsibility to stop any abominations before they cause death and destruction.” His eyes dropped from Anders to Tahlie; she felt her blood freeze at the intense determination in his gaze. “No one would condemn us for stepping in and removing a possible threat from the centre of the beloved Warden stronghold. What could be worse than having the Wardens compromised and attacked from within? The Wardens are cherished heroes, so we would be praised for saving them from any internal threat.”

The papers on the table near Anders’ feet burst into flames. “Are you threatening to kill Tahlindra if I don’t cooperate with you?”

“Your words, Warden, not mine.”

Tahlie felt the hairs on her arms stand on end, as crackles of electricity began to twinkle in the air around her. If she hadn’t been so terrified of the Templars, she might have found the whole affair rather pretty.

“You will not touch her,” Anders hissed slowly, a glow emanating from his skin. “If you even look at her askew, I will make the destruction of the Golden City look like a simple misunderstanding in comparison.”

Lucien nodded to him, though there was scorn in his eyes. “Duly noted, Warden. But perhaps a recommendation- it is not wise to reveal your weakness so readily to those you consider your enemies.”

Pausing for a long few moments, Anders finally turned his back on the Templar and dropped down next to Tahlie. He grabbed her by the arm, probably much firmer than he intended, and tugged her from her chair. He half dragged her along as he marched from the room in silence.

The second they were out of hearing of the library, Tahlie ripped her arm from his grasp and spun on him. “How was a display like that supposed to help me in any-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. With a growl of pure fury, something wholly male and completely aggressive that sent a jolt of arousal through her, Anders pushed her up against the wall and covered her mouth with his.


	13. Chapter 13

He caged her with his arms, slamming his palms onto the wall either side of her head. Tahlie tried to gasp, or protest, or push him away, or _something_ , but her treacherous body didn’t really seem to be working in concert with her. Instead of opening her mouth to object, she tangled her tongue with his, moaning as he pressed her back into the wall. She could feel the lean strength in his body, covering and caging her; the knowledge that he had her effectively trapped was surprisingly thrilling and she returned each biting, desperate kiss with one of her own.

“You drive me so _crazy_ , I just…” He kissed her fiercely, bruising her lips with the force of his ardour. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I tried to leave you alone-”

“When have you _ever_ left me alone?” she gasped, whimpering when he nipped along the line of her jaw. Each little sting was soothed with a swipe of his tongue. The softness of the gesture was lost when he bit down on the juncture of her neck and her shoulder; Tahlie cried out, arching into him unintentionally. He growled against her skin, pushing her legs apart with his knee and dragging her onto his thigh. “I’d hate to see you… ah!” She moaned when he pressed against her intimately with his leg. “I’d hate to see what paying attention looks like, if you’ve been ignoring me all this time.”

“You have a smart mouth, woman,” he growled, before plundering it ruthlessly. It didn’t take long before she was writhing in his arms, clutching desperately at his robes and hands clawing at his scalp.

“Maker, you are vexing,” she panted, biting his ear in retaliation for the way he slowly ground his thigh between hers.

“ _I’m_ vexing?” He tore himself away from her neck and pinned her with his gaze. The heat in his eyes made her whimper. “I just declared war on the Templars for you.”

“Exactly,” she said, moaning when he ran his hands over her hips, tracing her curves almost reverentially. “I didn’t ask you to be such an arse. You just threw me in the firing line and now you want to be rewarded for it?”

“Maker’s breath, woman, do you always complain this much every time a man tries to make love to you?”

“What’s wrong? Upset that you’re not hearing ‘Yes, yes Anders!’ like you would from one of your normal floozies? You’ve attacked me in a public corridor with Templars standing not thirty feet away!”

“Shouldn’t that tell you how far you push my restraint?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him as he ducked and wove through the hallways; whenever the sound of footsteps approached from the opposite direction he pushed her into an open doorway or an alcove under the stairs. While she chafed at his domineering, she didn’t try to break from his hold and every time their flight was interrupted he took the opportunity to pull her up against him and kiss her with such ferocity that her knees grew weak each time he dragged her towards him.

When they reached the floor that the Wardens slept on, his pace quickened; he nearly kicked his door down in his impatience, fumbling with the key and growling in frustration. Just as she was about to make some sarcastic comment, he conquered the latch and tugged her through the doorway with a jerk that had her stumbling into his chest; then she was pressed up against the wall before she could even draw breath.

“What makes you so sure I’m going to sleep with you?” she said, gasping when his fingers slipped nimbly inside her shirt.

He ran his other hand down the line of buttons, the shirt falling open with an almost insulting ease. “You haven’t told me to stop yet,” he said, his mouth following the line of exposed flesh that each button revealed. She cried out when he nuzzled the curve of her breast, the stubble on his chin rasping deliciously across her skin.

“You are the most infuriating, frustrating, narcissistic-”

“There’s no need to flatter me, darling. You’ve already seduced me utterly.”

It was her turn to growl; grabbing him by his hair she yanked him upwards until their lips met again in a frenzy of kissing and nipping that had no rhythm, just anger and reckless need.

Tahlie didn’t know where she found the nerve to be so bold with him, but her frustration from the last few weeks coupled with her anger at his stupidity in the library overrode her good sense and let her desperate curiosity take control. When he tugged the shirt down from her shoulders she helped by shrugging out of the material until it pooled at her feet. His fingers immediately began to dance across her exposed skin and she gasped, sagging against him as it both tickled and delighted her.

“Methinks the lady likes that,” he said, his chuckle of laugher rumbling across her skin. One hand crept slowly up her back while the other held her flush against him; she squeaked in alarm when she felt her small clothes abruptly loosen around her chest and out of habit she clutched at herself to hide her nudity.

He laughed at her sudden onset of modesty, gently prising her arms away. “Ah, Tahlindra, are you forgetting that I have already seen your glorious body several times over now? If anything I should be the modest one, given that you’re yet to see me naked.”

She still blushed as she hesitantly let him put her arms back at her sides. “Modest is not a word I think of when I think of you, Anders.”

“And what words do you think of, hmm?” He ran his fingers ever so lightly down the outsides of her breasts, smirking when her breathing quickened. “Do you think… scoundrel? Handsome? Talented?”

She gasped as he circled her nipples before brushing his fingernails over the aching tips. “As if I would admit it and stroke your ego.”

“Well then I’ll have to keep guessing, won’t I?” He nibbled on her earlobe, his breath teasing her neck as his voice dropped. “Do you think breathless? Or maybe sweat soaked? Oh, I know! Entwined? Ecstasy?”

Tahlie groaned as his teeth sank gently into the soft spot on her shoulder again. “I _think_ you are despicable!”

“That’s simply not true- I won’t hear such callous lies. In fact,” he drew back to look at her, his gaze so fierce with need that she felt like an inferno had burst to life inside of her, “I think I might punish you for trying to deceive me.”

“ _Anders_ ,” she moaned, the word slipping past her lips before she could help herself. The flare of triumph in his eyes made a part of her want to scowl and stomp her feet, but it was buried so far under the wave of frantic need that was engulfing her that she ignored it for now.

“ _Tahlie,_ ” he mimicked, smiling slyly before scooping her quickly into his arms. She squealed as he danced her across the room, dropping her onto the bed with a flourish. Before she had even finished bouncing, he was on her, kissing her and running his clever fingers across her skin until she was quite certain she was going mad from sensation. When she felt him toying with the laces of her pants, she tilted her hips so that he could slide them down her legs. And suddenly she was naked before him, vulnerable in his bed as he inspected her fully dressed.

She blushed when he took his time looking at her, his eyes burning a path over bare skin that had her squirming. “If you’re just going to sit there…” she started to say.

Anders laughed, the sound setting alight a flame low in her belly. “Are you suggesting I rush, darling Tahlie? I dare say you’d be disappointed if all I gave you was a quick tumble-”

“Then _touch_ me,” she said, the words hissed out desperately and betraying her need.

With another chuckle he crawled slowly up her naked body, laying slow kisses on her bare skin as he went while the cloth of his robe whispered and teased just as badly. His knee was between her legs and he pressed his thigh against her until she cried out. With a smug smile he bent his head and blew gently on her aching nipple, before running his tongue across the tender flesh. She moaned and arched into him as he tortured her with mouth and fingers, never staying in one spot for long. It didn’t take long until she was writhing under his ministrations.

“Anders,” she gasped out through gritted teeth, “if you don’t take off your Maker cursed clothes _now_ , I will-”

He silenced her with a kiss. “No need to resort to threats, love,” he said with a laugh, rising up above on his knees and nearly ripping his robe off over his head. As the proof of his arousal was exposed, she fought the urge to gasp; her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts for a smug smile bloomed on his face. “The lady approves, I take it?” he asked, crawling slowly back towards her with a look that was purely male and thrillingly predatory. She couldn’t help the small moan that escaped from her lips as he lowered himself towards her with tedious slowness.

The moment his bare skin touched hers they both groaned. “Maker take it all, you drive me so crazy woman.” His hands were flying over her skin, teasing and pinching and enflaming her to the point where she didn’t know whether to throttle him or lunge for him.

“ _Oh_ , blessed Andraste,” she rasped, convinced that any moment now she was going to ignite in flames from the friction of his skin against hers. Everywhere he touched her seemed to erupt with violent sparks of sensation, a wicked rush of feelings that had her whimpering and grinding and going utterly out of her mind.

Anders panted and clamped his hands around her hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave bruises. “Tahlie,” he groaned, his forehead resting against hers as he fought for air, “if you keep squirming like that, this is going to be over much faster than either of us want.”

“ _Anders,_ ” she moaned, trying desperately to keep moving, to keep building that delicious friction. The more he tried to pin her down the more frenzied she became, kissing every part of him that she could reach and twining her legs around his, running her feet up and down his calves. He groaned against her mouth, the sound one of need and frustration.

“Vile temptress,” he murmured. “Have it your way.”

With one swift thrust, he was buried inside of her; Tahlie’s head fell back against the pillow with a stunned moan while Anders hid his face against her neck, his breath hissing from him. After a moment he propped himself on his elbows over her, panting shallowly while sweat beaded on his forehead. Something about her expression must have given her away for he paused, though she could feel how much it strained him to do so.

“Tahlie?” he gasped, before his eyes widened. “Oh, Maker no. No, no, no. You can’t-”

“I was when I left Gwaren,” she said hoarsely. Biting her lip, she shifted her hips experimentally and was rewarded by a groan from Anders and a jolt of pleasure that shot through her core. “Haven’t been for several weeks now, after what happened in the Deep Roads. Hoped… hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“Sweetheart, you should have said something!” He looked genuinely distressed at her revelation. When he tried to pull away, she tightened her grip on his hips and tilted her own until he cursed softly and desperately under his breath. “Tahlie, you’re not making this any easier.”

She put her hand to his cheek and turned him to face her. “I want this,” she whispered, kissing him gently. “I… I need better memories, to fight the ones they gave me. So show me that you’re not all talk- you said something about not walking for a week afterwards?”

“Tahlie, this isn’t a joke!” Guilt swam in his eyes and his voice was hoarse. “I was too rough- I could’ve hurt you!”

She kissed him gently again- then bit down on his lip. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember telling you to stop what you were doing.”

Hearing his words thrown back at him, he groaned and thrust into her with such force that she felt the bed shift an inch. She cried out, thighs locked around his hips as her back arched; he was kissing her and running his hands through her hair and whispering so many things into her ear but she couldn’t hear any of them. His movements were not those of a smooth, practised lover but were desperate and needy; Tahlie matched him stroke for stroke, rising up to meet his thrusts and crying out every time he hit just the right place inside of her.

Despite his furious movements, he kissed her so softly and tenderly that it was nearly her undoing. When his hand reached down between them to rub at the sensitive nub between her legs, she screamed as the tension within her exploded, stars winking in front of her eyes as she was overwhelmed by pleasure. She felt her body spasm around him, drawing him deeper into her tight heat and pushing her pleasure higher still. Above her, she saw his eyes widen in shock as the same tension that had ensnared her swept through his body. His back arched from the force of the release that took him, and his eyes fell shut as a strangled groan broke from him. He thrust into her twice more, the groan evolving into a roar as he fell against her limply.

Tahlie lay stunned, little waves of pleasure still sweeping through her and making her gasp as she struggled to remember how to breathe again. “Anders…” she finally managed to force past her lips. She was supposed to say more than that, had planned on saying much more, but it seemed like speech was a little beyond her at the moment.

“Oh, bloody Maker,” he gasped, his body still shuddering as his heaving chest pressed her into the bed. The weight of him was so utterly divine; his breath burned her skin as he panted for control. “Thank Andraste for Grey Warden stamina- I think you would have killed me otherwise.”

She nuzzled against the top of his head, awash with the most beautiful lethargy she had ever experienced. “Is it… is it always like that?”

He lifted himself onto one elbow with a great deal of effort and smiled. “It is most assuredly _never_ like that,” he said, kissing her softly, fingers stroking her cheek as his lips caressed hers. “You are far too talented for your own good.”

“ _Too_ talented? I didn’t realise there was such a thing when it came to… what we just did.” Her blush was adorable, colouring not just her cheeks but the swell of her breasts as well, luring his eyes down to where her nipples kept brushing his chest. It was so utterly charming that she could still be modest after the way she had just ravaged his body like some frenzied seductress.

“Are you blushing, darling Tahlie? Too shy to simply say ‘ _made wild, crazy passionate love_ ’?” Her blush deepened and he chuckled. “If you don’t say it, I shall simply assume it means that I won that round.”

“Won? We keep _score_ in these things?” She almost seemed alarmed at the prospect.

He grinned slyly, unable to help himself. “It’s standard practice to keep score of who was the clear winner in each… situation. I suppose, since you’re too embarrassed by it all, that it means I-”

“You did not win!” she said quickly, her eyes flashing with defiance. “You just said I was far too talented for my own good. That I was so good I nearly killed you. Well, clearly that means that I… that I outsexed you!”

“ _Outsexed_ me?” he said incredulously, although he was delighted at her spark. “You cannot suggest, madam, that a practised lover such as myself could be defeated by a mere novice such as yourself?”

The growl she made sent a rush of heat through him as she lunged for him, toppling him onto his back and crawling up to straddle him. The fiercely sexual look she gave him made him want to purr. “Best two out of three, then.”

***

She lay curled up in the crook of his arm, fast asleep from exhaustion. Anders watched her, utterly sapped of strength and fighting sleep but determined to savour this quiet moment. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, as if she was dreaming, but her breathing was steady and she was still in his embrace.

He had never had a lover surprise him as much as Tahlie had. Given her gentle spirit and the traumatic things she had endured over the past few months, he had expected her to be timid and in need of gentle encouragement; he had not expected the voracious spitfire she had turned into, leaving deep scratches on his back and bite marks on his neck. Blessed Andraste, she was practically a _virgin_ , yet he’d had encounters with women at The Pearl in Denerim who would be lucky to be half as good as her. Oh _Maker_ , and that wicked wit of hers! Nothing was more of a turn off for him than a lover who couldn’t enjoy themselves; sex was supposed to be fun, after all, not some maudlin affair with tearfully whispered proclamations of love and never ending commitment. Now _that_ was a mood killer if ever he heard one.

He stroked the back of his fingers across her cheek, marvelling at the velvet soft feel of her skin. She didn’t even stir and he smiled to himself. He could definitely get used to having her waiting for him in his bed at the end of every day… and several times during the day, if he could have his way.

“ _But for how long?_ ” whispered a dark corner of his mind. “ _How long until you grow tired of her and have to break her heart? How long before she falls in love with you and tries to cage you and snatch away your freedom? How long before the Templars decide they can use her against you?_ ”

He stilled, the accusations ringing through his head even as he stared down at her. Maker’s breath, he cared for Tahlie a great deal- possibly even loved her, though he wasn’t ready to face that truth quite yet- but his freedom was everything to him. Even now he was chafing at the bounds placed on him by the Wardens, the rules and expectations and constant suspicion stirred up by Rolan and his ilk. Had he not had Tahlie as a distraction these last few weeks, he might already have slipped away in the night.

Suddenly desperate to clear his head of such dismal thoughts, he tilted Tahlie’s chin and kissed her, dragging her flush up against him. She murmured sleepily and he felt the exact moment that she woke enough to recognise what he was doing; her lips curled into a smile as she kissed him in return, while her arms slid around his neck while her body moulded to his. As he sank into her again and set a languid rhythm that had her purring her approval, he tried not to think of the day he would run from her.

Maybe it would be better if he just talked to her about it… but later. Maybe in the morning, when she wasn’t doing such interesting things with her hands.

 _Maker, Anders, but you are the most selfish bastard in all of Thedas._


	14. Chapter 14

Squinting against the setting sun, Tahlie drew back on the string and held her bow at the ready, waiting for the perfect moment. There was a loud crack behind her and something went soaring over her head. Reacting instantly, she swung into position and let fly her arrow. She didn’t stop to see if her mark had landed, instead spinning to face the movement she sensed at her left. She fired again, sprinting forward and shooting another three arrows in quick succession. Dropping to her knees she skidded under a tree trunk that had fallen across the path, jumping up and firing back in the direction from which she had just come.

A shadow fell over her and she glanced over her shoulder; cursing, she lunged out of the way of the sword that crashed down into the space she had been standing in. She landed awkwardly and stumbled, aware of the enemy bearing down on her back. Snatching an arrow from her quiver, she ducked under the next sword strike and jammed the arrow head into the leather armour of her opponent; for good measure she kicked out at the back of his knees too.

“Sodding asschabs!” The curse, though roared violently, was so utterly ridiculous that she couldn’t help but laugh. Oghren glared at her, then down at the smear of chalk across his ribs. “You little tart, you’ve been spending too much time with the Commander. That’s her move, or you can call me a nug’s uncle.”

“The Gauntlet is still active, Warden.” Denril’s voice boomed down from overhead and she glanced at the scaffolding where he stood accompanied by an ever growing crowd of curious onlookers. “You still have enemies in the vicinity to deal with.”

“Who’s left?” she whispered to Oghren, bending down close on the pretence that she was collecting her arrow.

“Like I’m gonna tell you, you blood thirsty minx. I’m a darkspawn, remember?” He wiggled his fingers at her and cackled. “Besides, I’m dead. Dead darkspawn can’t tell ya there were seven of us in here to start and you’ve wiped out three of us in the first few minutes.”

She grinned and patted him on the knee. “Thanks, Oghren.”

“What, that’s it?” He yelled after her as she vanished back into the obstacle course, “Not even a kiss ta say thank you? Get yer pucker back here!”

“Dream on, you drunkard!” Tahlie nearly giggled hearing Anders’ voice drift over from the right.

“Darkspawn are to remain in character,” Denril called from the scaffolding; she swore she could hear him sigh in exasperation.

The Gauntlet had been Defira’s idea, a way to amuse the nobles while showcasing the abilities of the Wardens. It had worked well so far, providing an amusing diversion for both combatants and audience; and if it happened to reinforce Defira’s role as the leader of a fearsome military faction, well then it was just that much more of success. The weapons were of course all fake- the swords and axes made of blunt wood, the arrows tipped with wadded linen instead of metal heads. They didn’t fly as naturally as one meant to kill, but it at least meant those unlucky enough to get hit were only left with impressive bruises from the impact, rather than gaping flesh wounds. Likewise the swords still cracked ribs and broke a few bones, but no one had to carry a severed limb back to the infirmary at night. All the weapons had been caked with chalk, bright pinks and yellows that made them look more than a little comical. It was for a purpose- since these were war games, put on to showcase the talent of some of Ferelden’s finest warriors, there had to be a way to have confirmed kills, as it were. The chalk saved hours of arguing over whether or not a weapon merely glanced across armour or whether it would have been a fatal blow. And every night they all scrubbed themselves furiously in their rooms to try and turn their skin back to a more natural colour tone than cherry pink or lurid yellow.

Tahlie had avoided being called in for nearly a week now, but Defira had pulled her aside last night and gently explained that she had no intention of playing favourites and that Tahlie had her obligations to the order. While initially terrified of humiliating herself in front of everyone in the Keep, Defira had subtly pointed out that it would only work in her favour for those who were suspicious of her to see her strong and confident. Some of the more self-important noblemen had put their names forward to attempt the Gauntlet- not a single one of them had lasted more than five minutes. The Wardens, in general, lasted at least half an hour in the arena. If Tahlie could live up to the same standards as her brothers and sisters, it just might be enough to dissuade those scheming against her to look for a target elsewhere.

Tahlie didn’t fail to notice that the crowd on the wall was larger than it had been for any of the other challengers. Both Lucien and Pieter, the other Templar, were standing near Denril with unreadable expressions, gesturing to her with small hand movements while they spoke in low tones. Lennox, the senior enchanter who had accompanied them from the tower, was joined by his apprentice Ysolde who was looking around at the mud with an expression of advanced panic. The third mage, Erron, was nowhere to be seen. The assortment of nobility on the wall was impressive- she spotted King Alistair and the two men she had been introduced to as his ‘sort-of’ uncles, Eamon and Teagan. There were all manner of fancy dresses and embroidered doublets, matched to faces that she knew she should remember the names that when along with them-

“Dada, _asschabs!_ ”

Laughter rang out across the wall and she even heard a few snickers in the obstacle course as she crept through the range. Tahlie bit her tongue to keep her own chuckle locked away.

She heard Alistair sigh, but she didn’t risk glancing up at him and losing her concentration. “Whatever it is, I’m certainly not going to tell you, young man. You mother would be very grumpy with both of us if I did.”

The blond toddler in his arms giggled and squirmed, looking like he was trying to concoct a way to escape from his father’s hold on him. “Mama!” he sang, which elicited more laughter. “ _Mama asschabs!_ ”

“Yes, well, she’s certainly be known to say that.” Alistair sounded slightly strained, as if he would rather be anywhere in the world at that moment than having this conversation in front of all of his subjects.

“Dada, minx!”

Tahlie snickered despite herself, and then cursed under her breath when she heard a whisper of sound behind her. She sprinted for the dubious cover of the ‘trees’ up ahead- a collection of planks and spears wedged into the ground- hoping that it wasn’t Mariken pursuing her. Of all the Wardens, the blonde hunter was the only one so far who could outrun her, now that her leg was properly healed. She weaved in and out of the ‘trees’ hoping that her constant dodging was enough for any attack to miss her. A ball of fire flew past her ear, barely missing her and incinerating the planks in front of her. Despite herself, she grinned as she realised it was Anders hunting her; her grin disappeared as a shadow lunged at her from behind a rock.

Cursing herself for a fool, she fell sideways to avoid the knife thrust aimed at her neck. The small figure loomed over her and Tahlie scrabbled to regain her feet, recognising Mariken underneath the scavenged darkspawn armour. She only just swerved out of the way of the next knife, the blade sinking into the mud where her shoulder had been an instant before. Tahlie kicked out awkwardly, but Mariken easily avoided the blow, swinging back towards her with almost unnatural speed. Swearing, Tahlie rolled, hugging her bow to her in that hope that it wouldn’t break.

Getting enough distance from the woman to jump to her feet, Tahlie pulled out her short sword as she spun about. Mariken loomed in close and struck; by sheer luck Tahlie managed to parry but she was pushed backwards. They traded blows, Mariken always seeming to stay a half a second ahead of her. Panting desperately, Tahlie tried to look about, looking for something that would throw the duel in her favour.

Just as her feet hit stone, she felt a rush of air behind her and she ducked; a chunk of rock the size of her head flew past. Mariken had leapt for her at the same moment that she dropped and the stone slammed into her shoulder. As the other Warden staggered backwards from the blow, Tahlie ripped an arrow from her quiver and lunged at her. Despite being hit by the poorly timed Stonefist, Mariken was still a fierce opponent; they grappled together, neither one able to get a better grip on the other.

Tahlie dared to glance away from Mariken for a brief second, her eyes widening as she recognised where they were on the Gauntlet. A mad, crazy idea flew into her head and before she had time to think about just what a stupid plan it was, she dropped the arrow and tackled Mariken- right over the edge of the drop behind them.

Mariken screeched, clearly not expecting the fall. Tahlie felt ill at the moment of weightlessness before they hit the muddy pond several feet below. The water was freezing, and it hurt as badly as if they’d come crashing down onto stone. Mariken took the brunt of the impact, and when Tahlie burst through the surface gasping for air, she found that she was quite alone. Glancing about when she didn’t appear, Tahlie groaned and took a deep breath. She plunged back under the murky surface, feeling around frantically for any sign of the other woman. Her fingers finally brushed against fabric and she grabbed it. With much effort, she dragged the unconscious Warden onto the mud at the side of the pond, choking up the silty water that had made its way into her lungs.

“You make yourself far too much of an easy target, Tahlindra,” a hated voice said beside her as a blade appeared at her ear. She tried not to growl in frustration as Rolan stepped within view. “Laughably easy, all things considered.”

Her arm was underneath her, pressed into the mud. Hoping he wouldn’t see the movement, she slid it down her stomach until she felt the hilt of her spare knife.

“Perhaps the concept of a war game is too complex for one such as you,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself far too much to end his soliloquising. He made sure his words were loud enough to be heard by everyone watching the contest. “After all, you’ve no proper training in the affairs of battle, so it isn’t too surprising to find you so easily defeated.”

With a snarl, she propped her weight onto her elbows and swung the lower half of her body in a circle, aimed straight at the obnoxious man. Her legs slammed into him, sweeping his feet out from under him. Before he’d even landed properly she was on him, knees crushing his chest as she slashed the knife across his neck. A line of bright yellow appeared from the chalk; panting for air, Tahlie staggered back to her feet.

“I may not be battle trained,” she spat, “but I had a sister. I can fight dirty.” Unable to help herself, she kicked him fiercely in the ribs. “And darkspawn don’t stop to moralise!”

There was a round of cheers from the scaffolding as she stumbled away from him and back up the slope away from the pond. The cold from the pond water was burning her extremities- her fingers felt like they were on fire and she could see her breath steaming in front of her as she struggled towards cover. Maker, how the bloody hell did the others make this seem easy? Granted they’d all exited with bruises and sheepish smiles, but by Andraste it hurt!

She counted off in her head as she ran. Oghren had told her seven opponents had entered to challenge her, and he was her third kill. She’d taken two more since then, and she knew Anders was lurking somewhere. So two more to defeat- one a mage and one an unknown.

Tahlie grasped at her back, groaning when her hand came away empty. The fall into the pond must have emptied her quiver and the desperate search in the water for Mariken had forced her to drop her bow. She remembered drawing her sword at some point, but that too was missing. Her options were fiercely limited.

Ahead of her the ground burst into flames; gasping, she spun about and saw that her retreat was cut off by fire as well. She couldn’t see Anders, but she wasn’t taking any chances that he’d go easy on her. She dove forward, sliding into the crawl space beneath a boulder as a ball of fire slammed into the earth where she’d been standing. While she knew he was pulling back on the intensity of his spells as much as possible so as not to really hurt anyone- the same way the rest of them had resorted to wooden swords and blunted arrows- she could still feel the blast of heat against her frozen skin and she winced.

Trying to squeeze as far under the rock as possible while she caught her breath, she felt a cool breeze playing across her lower back and she froze. Twisted about, she saw that the crawl space was not a dead end as she had first assumed; the way the slab of granite lay against the hill meant that there was a tiny passageway that ran underneath the boulder. The gap was tiny and she felt more than a little panicked looking at it, but looking over her shoulder at the fire that continued to rage outside, she knew she had to risk it.

Lying flat on her stomach, she dragged herself forward using her elbows as leverage. It became so narrow that even lifting her head was impossible and she tried to control her breathing as panic tried to take over. Behind her she heard the roar of another explosion and a lick of heat against the soles of her boots; biting her lip she squeezed through the last bit of the tunnel, wanting to cry from the rock scraping her back raw but so compressed that she couldn’t draw the breath to do it.

Finally her fingers scrabbled against grass instead of more stone and she dug frantically into the soil. Pulling herself out, she fell against the rock gasping and trying not to notice the dozen or so places she was bleeding from. Her hand fell to her belt and she nearly wept in relief to find her knife still tucked securely against her waist. At least she had that much.

Ducking low to the ground, she ran in a wide circle away from the boulder, sneaking back in from the opposite direction. She found a half incinerated spear and she silently picked it up, trying to ignore the murmurings of the crowd above her. Clearly her mole-like reappearance far from where she’d disappeared had startled more than a few people. She just wanted them to shut up so that Anders and whoever else was left didn’t realise she’d crept around behind them.

Sidling around a particularly large fallen tree trunk, she finally spotted him crouched before the hole she’d disappeared into. He dropped to his knees, clearly intending to see where she was hiding; deciding she wouldn’t get a better chance than this, she leapt down off the tree trunk and cracked him over the head with the spear.

“Andraste’s tits, woman!” He fell flat on his stomach, rolling onto his hip and glaring at her with a hand on his head. “Confirmed kill! Bloody Maker, were you trying to make it a real one?”

“I’ll kiss it better later,” she whispered, dropping to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Bloody oath you’re going to. The bar is set remarkably high right now. Lots of kissing.”

His comments drew a smattering of laughter from the crowd and Tahlie blushed before she dashed back into cover. One challenger left. Her back felt like it was on fire, she couldn’t feel her fingers or her feet right now, and with the sun sinking closer to the horizon every second she was not looking forward to hunting and being hunted in the dark. Clutching the spear close, she knelt in the fissure between two rocks and tried to catch her breath.

She had no idea who the first few kills before Oghren had been, so she had no idea of knowing who was out there. Although, if Nathaniel had been about, she would have noticed more ranged attacks by now, unless he’d been holding himself in reserve. She stopped and listened, trying to keep out the chatter from above and the noises of the Keep as the inhabitants prepared for night, searching for a sound that might signal the approach of an opponent.

She didn’t hear Sigrun until it was nearly too late. Realising that she’d been spotted, the dwarf woman charged at her, barrelling into her with the force of an ogre. With an ‘ _oomph_ ’ Tahlie found herself flat on her back as Sigrun swung her wooden blades around for the kill. Rolling out of the way at the last second, Tahlie kicked out with her legs; Sigrun evaded the move easily, belying the idea that dwarves could not be nimble.

“Nice try, but you’ve tried that on too many people already today,” Sigrun said, raining down attacks on her that she desperately batted aside with the spear. There was a crack and the wood splintered; Tahlie suddenly found herself with two much shorter pieces of wood that didn’t seem nearly as helpful as a full length staff. Desperate enough to be stupid, Tahlie threw both pieces at Sigrun and ran; the cry of surprise at her back meant she’d gained some kind of advantage, even if it was only half a second.

She sprinted through the obstacles, vaulting over rocks and fallen trees and trying to extend her lead over the Warden. She grimaced and stumbled when a vicious stitch ripped through her side, and she pressed a hand to her ribs to try and stop the pain. It didn’t really help, but there was nothing else for it- she kept running.

The edge of the Gauntlet loomed large up ahead and she still had no idea what she was doing. Sigrun’s footsteps were close behind, and she was tired and sore and panicked and desperate not to look like a fool in front of the dozens of people watching and judging her. Turning to face the dwarf woman, she waited until Sigrun lifted her blades with a triumphant look on her face- and then she punched her.

Sigrun staggered backwards, knives falling from her hands. Blood streamed from her nose and her expression was stunned.

“ _That’s_ for calling me a darkspawn whore,” Tahlie spat, before punching her again.

Sigrun caught on quickly, and met Tahlie’s punches with her own. Soon they lost all control, scratching and clawing and snarling at each other like wild cats. When Sigrun tripped her and leapt atop her, raining blows down on her, Tahlie fought back furiously.

“You think you’re _special_ , do you?” Sigrun snarled, her eyes blazing. One was already swelling shut from a punch Tahlie had landed. “Well you’re nothing, _bitch_. The things I’ve seen and fought would make your sad little story seem like a lunch outing. But you cry and moan and everyone comes running to give you cuddles and special treatment. You’re a disgrace to the Wardens!”

“Sigrun?”

“What?”

Tahlie pressed her knife, the last weapon that she’d managed to keep on her for the whole course, deeply against the dwarf woman’s throat. “You’re dead.”

Sigrun froze, and then her eyes blazed furiously. “You _bitch!_ You cheated-”

“There are no rules when you fight darkspawn,” Tahlie said, breath wheezing in and out of her chest. “Or did no one tell you? Guess you’ve still got a bit to learn.”

“Confirmed kill.” Denril’s voice rang out over the battlefield, the words so blessedly welcome that Tahlie wanted to lie on the ground and cry in relief. “Congratulations, Warden Tahlindra. You have completed the Gauntlet.”

A rousing cheer rose up from the crowd, applause ringing in her ears as she shoved Sigrun off her and staggered to her feet. She waved weakly at the onlookers, making her way wearily to the exit beneath the scaffolding.

Denril met her with a smile, clapping a hand to her shoulder in what she assumed was supposed to be a comradely fashion, but really just hurt with all her injuries. “Well done, Tahlindra,” he said, nodding to the other Wardens as they trekked out of the course behind her. “An outstanding performance. Only two other Wardens have managed to defeat every single opponent, and you managed it faster than either of them.”

“Well done, Tahlindra,” Nathaniel said, coming up beside her with a sheepish expression on his face. There was a rather large splatter of bright pink against his chest plate. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your skill, given that I’ve been the one to teach you, but that was remarkable. I’m very impressed.”

Tahlie blushed and stammered her thanks as Wardens and strangers lined up to congratulate her. Rolan merely sneered at her as he stalked past; it was interesting to see the Templars didn’t really acknowledge him as he crossed paths with them. She saw Reven, an elf Warden with an almost unholy love for his longsword, head towards the infirmary with the unconscious Mariken in his arms, an impressive bruise colouring the entire left side of his face. He nodded to her as he passed, winking with the uninjured eye.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned around, still beaming and blushing at the same time. Anders stood behind her with eyebrows raised; before she could apologise for the hit to his head, he tackled her around the middle and threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her squeals and the laughter of the crowd around them.

“Put me down, you oaf!”

He _tsked_ , his hand resting outrageously on her thigh. “Now now, Warden, I think we both know you’ve done this to yourself,” he said, his words so smug that she could practically feel the smirk on his face.

“Oh, Maker! Anders! Everyone is looking!” She tried to hide her face in his back.

“And yet no one is stopping me- they must all agree with me that you’ve abused my poor head outrageously and deserve to be punished.”

The laughter followed them all the way back to the Keep.


	15. Chapter 15

It was late afternoon of the next day when she finally slunk from Anders’ room and headed in search of food. She’d awoken astonishingly famished and sadly alone, although she did vaguely recall him murmuring something to her about being called to a meeting, his lips deliberately teasing at the curve of her ear as he apologised and promised to be back as soon as possible. Unfortunately, such a time had not yet manifested, and when she finally couldn’t ignore the rumble in her stomach and the ache in her bladder any longer she tumbled from the bed with a groan.

She had a moment of panic when she realised her only set of clothing in his room was her thoroughly destroyed garments from the Gauntlet challenge the day before; she’d been naked for some time now, after all, and clothing just hadn’t been something she’d stopped to consider earlier when Anders had dragged her upstairs over his shoulder. She inched the door open and stuck her head into the hallway, biting her lip as if that would make her attempts at sneaking more silent. Judging the coast to be clear, she dashed down the hall to her own room wrapped in only the bed sheet, cursed, and then turned and ran back to Anders’ room to look for her key amongst her discarded things. Her face was flaming on the second run down the hall, and she was certain that any moment now she was likely to hear Oghren cackle behind her.

Finally she was dressed appropriately, and with very little in the way of catastrophes if one didn’t count tripping on the bed sheet and sprawling naked in the hallway. At least she could soothe her wounded ego with the comforting thought that no one had witnessed her stupidity.

The mess hall was relatively busy, the great table cluttered with both Wardens and the Keep’s soldiers and the mood in the room was raucous and loud. Just as she entered, she saw a bread roll go sailing through the air and hit Reven on the back of the head. The offender, an elf on the night watch, laughed uproariously when the Warden flew to his feet and, getting his limbs caught in the legs of the chair, promptly went toppling over backwards. Unable to help herself, she grinned as she headed for the side table laden with food.

“Oi, Tahlie!” A brunette dressed in the colour of Vigil’s livery jumped up from her chair and ran over to her. “S’alright if I call you Tahlie, right? Just wanted to say cheers for winning yesterday- won ten gold on you, I did.”

Tahlie blinked. “Um… you’re welcome?”

“Name’s Carin,” the guardswoman said, thrusting out her hand. Tahlie shook it gingerly. “Anyway, I just wanted to say it’s nice to see someone normal givin’ the Wardens a run for their gold. Most of ‘em are alright, few of ‘em are tosspots. Heard you’re a Gwaren girl, yeah? Me da’s from Gwaren, can’t say I blame you for leavin’, Blight or no.”

“Um…” Tahlie had absolutely no idea whether she was even supposed to respond. Was that last bit a question or not?

“Anyway, I’m due up on watch soon. Good talkin’ to you, Tahl!”

Tahlie stared as the woman bounced back to her table, punching the man seated beside her with more force than she would have assumed to be friendly, but he just laughed good naturedly. Shaking her head in bemusement, Tahlie filled her plate before finding a seat at the end of the table that was the quietest. She smiled politely at the others seated nearby, but otherwise kept to herself as she wolfed down her meal.

At somewhat of a loss as to what to do, she pushed her empty plate across the table and glanced at the windows. She still had maybe two hours of sunlight left, and the idea of extra archery practice didn’t sound terrible. Despite all the praise she’d won yesterday for conquering the Gauntlet, she wasn’t really that proficient yet. Really, her skill came mostly from her speed with the bow, rather than any talent or accuracy.

She gathered her thoughts and headed down the back stairs towards the armoury; she needed to select a new bow to replace the one that was probably even now sitting on the bottom of that freezing, muddy pond. Nathaniel had taught her enough that she had some idea of what she should be looking for, but really she was desperately just hoping to find another sylvanwood. The first one had felt so comfortable in her hand, and to try and adjust to a new one just as she was getting the hang of things was going to be frustrating.

The door to the armoury was already open; she stepped through just as a large body came through from the opposite direction. With a startled yelp she fell backwards, landing awkwardly on the stone floor. Swearing under her breath and rubbing her bruised tailbone, she found a hand thrust almost directly into her face and looked up.

“Help you up?” The young man on the other end of the arm raised his eyebrows at her and smirked knowingly; she felt her face turn red as she reluctantly took the proffered hand. He hoisted her to her feet, his hand lingering on hers for longer than she felt comfortable with. “You’re Tahlindra, aren’t you? The Warden scrapper?”

She groaned. One fight with Sigrun and she’d already earned herself a title. Fantastic. “I am, yes,” she said, making a great show of brushing down her clothes, when really she was just trying to wipe her hand where he had touched her. He smiled at her, but the look in his eyes was far from genuine. “I apologise for knocking into you, ser. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else down here- is there something I can help you with?”

“We haven’t been introduced yet, have we?” He smiled roguishly at her, in a way that said he expected her to swoon at his feet. “Aedan Cousland, at your service. Brother to the Teyrn of Highever. And yes, I suppose your aid would be beneficial. I’ve always had a bit of a fascination with the Wardens; I was just snooping about to see what weaponry befitted such mythical warriors. Could I press upon you to show me?”

Something about the way his eyes darkened at the suggestion made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong Warden, serah. You would have a much better idea about the weapons than I would; I could fetch someone for you though, if you like.”

His smile turned predatory. “No need! I would be delighted just to spend some time in your… esteemed company, Tahlindra.” His hand brushed lightly against her sleeve and she jerked away from him.

“I am not interested in providing you with that kind of diversion,” she snapped, tucking her hands behind her back so that he wouldn’t see them shaking. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall take my leave of you.”

He chuckled, as if her announcement were some inane joke. “Come now, Tahlindra, I’m sure we can amuse each other for a couple of hours. I am curious to see if the rumours are true about the endless Warden stamina.”

Face flaming, she pulled out of his reach, backing down the hall away from him. “Not only do your words appal me, but I must point out your ignorance- I am already spoken for in… in such matters.”

He leant his shoulder casually against the door frame, as if her retreat was nothing out of the ordinary. “What, the mage? They’re all deviants, that lot. He wouldn’t have a care in the world if you indulged yourself elsewhere- you can rest assured he’s probably already doing the same thing.”

There was a creak of armour, the whisper of leather boots on the stone, and Tahlie spun on her heel, desperately thankful to have been interrupted. Justice stood at the foot of the stairs, his unnerving gaze flicking from Tahlie to Aedan.

“Good afternoon Tahlindra,” he said, his gravelly voice for once blessedly welcome instead of unnerving. “Do you require my assistance at all?”

 _Maker bless observant spirits._ She nodded frantically, glancing over her shoulder at Aedan as she scuttled towards Justice. “I feel I am in need of fresh air,” she said, tucking her arm through his before plastering a fake smile on her face to turn back to the nobleman. “Please, forgive me serah; perhaps we shall have a chance to talk some other time.”

He shrugged. “My offer remains open,” he said, a smug smile on his face as he sauntered off in the opposite direction, whistling quietly.

Tahlie shuddered and drew in closer to Justice; it took her a moment to realise she was leaning in to him for comfort, as if she were expecting him to put his arm around her. For once his slightly macabre smell didn’t upset her; she was just so relieved to be away from the arrogant Cousland. “Thank you, Justice,” she said, sighing. “You came along at just the right moment.”

“Are you truly in need of fresh air, Tahlindra? I do not mind escorting you outdoors if that is the case.”

She smiled at him, used to his eccentricities enough that she could see past the formal speech and see how concerned he actually was. His pale, unceasing eyes flickered over her face constantly, as if he were trying to read her and was struggling with the task. She gentled her smile and said “That would be nice, actually. If we go up to the roof, we can enjoy the sunshine in relative peace.”

He escorted her through the Keep and up the steps that were usually only frequented by the guard. They received a few odd looks from those few stationed along the battlements, but they found a quiet little area and Tahlie pulled herself up onto the stone to sit with a sigh of relief. Justice remained standing, his posture as stiffly formal as his speech was.

“Was that man trying to garner sexual favours from you, Tahlindra?”

 _Maker._ “Yes, Justice, I suppose he was.”

“And you refused him? Was that why you were uncomfortable in his presence?”

“It was, yes.” She sighed and fished a hair tie from her pocket, twisting her ragged locks into something that vaguely resembled a braid. “Do you just blurt out everything you want to ask? Do you ever think about your questions before you speak them out loud?”

His head tilted slightly to the side, as if he were confused by her query. “I choose my words with extreme care when conversing. Why? Have I caused offence in some way?”

Tahlie smiled. “I’ll admit: I don’t know anyone else who would simply come out with ‘ _did he request sexual favours from you_ ’. Most people would have broached the subject with a little more subtlety.”

Something in his expression darkened. “Subtlety is a weapon of demons. It is the quiet hint of temptation that has lured many down darker paths.”

“That’s not true,” she said. “Subtlety can be used when you need to be discreet if you know there are enemies who might overhear you. Or if you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings or embarrass them. Knowing how and when to be subtle, and knowing how to recognise it, are important parts of being human.”

He was silent for a moment, considering her words. “What you suggest is interesting, Tahlindra, but I still think blunt honesty would better serve the situation. What if your warning went unheeded because your attempt at subtlety was poorly worded? Then you would have death on your hands for simply not speaking forthrightly.”

Tahlie chewed on her lip, trying to think of a way to explain herself better. Of all the things she’d thought the day might hold, having a philosophical conversation with a Fade spirit was not one of them. “Well, if someone walked into a room and they didn’t have their pants laced up, you wouldn’t just yell that to them in front of everyone else. It would be embarrassing for them, so you’d quietly go up to them and tell them without anyone else being the wiser.”

Justice looked confused. “But I have seen that exact situation occur only this week,” he said. “Oghren quite loudly announced that Nathaniel was trying to expose himself to the mess hall and has continued to elaborate on the incident to anyone who will listen.”

“Yes, but Oghren is hardly a sterling example of flawless manners,” she said in exasperation. Trust the bloody dwarf to ruin her lesson on etiquette without even being here.

“Enough,” Justice said, shaking his head in what seemed like confusion. “I will think upon what you have said, Tahlindra.”

“Of course, Justice. I didn’t mean to upset you at all.”

They lapsed into companionable silence for a time, until she heard the spirit shifting restlessly and turned to face him. She noticed he was standing much closer to her than he had been previously. “Is something wrong, Justice?”

His face was awash with emotions, confusion being the most predominant; he reached out a hand as if to touch her but then it dropped back to his side. “I must ask, Tahlindra, about the things that have been said about you by the mages. Is it true that you are connected to the Fade?”

“Oh!” she said, understanding coming to her quickly. “You miss it, don’t you? Well, I’m not a mage, if that’s what you’re asking. Is that what you’re asking?”

His hand came back up hesitantly and he laid it gently on her shoulder, as if he expected her to throw it off at any moment. He sighed reverentially at the contact. “No, I understood their explanations to an extent. It’s just… I can feel the Fade calling to me when I stand near to you. I had forgotten what it was like to feel the lure of home.”

Tahlie softened, placing her hand over his. “It must be hard, knowing that your home is lost to you,” she said quietly. His skin was cool to touch, the body he inhabited having no need for warmth or a heartbeat. “For what it’s worth, Lennox explained to me that most mages access the Fade as if it were a doorway, drawing magic through and closing it behind afterwards. But, in my case, I seem to be the door itself, or maybe the key. I’m not really sure; he confused me quite a bit. I can’t seem to shut off the link to the Fade- but I can’t use it either. I’m the tool, not the hand that wields it. Perhaps a real mage would be able to help you more than I can?”

His eyes were closed, as if he were savouring the moment. When he opened them again, there was a spark of blue in the depths, before it faded back to the usual smoky grey. “Ah, Tahlindra, you make me yearn for things that are forbidden to me now. I have spent time in the presence of mages, and none have ever made me feel like this. To feel the Fade again after so many months of assuming it was lost to me…”

She looked at him, at the sadness in his expression and the yearning in his voice and she hopped down of the wall. Before he could step away to an appropriate distance, as he was wont to do normally, she wrapped her arms around his middle and hugged him tightly. She tried not to let the thought that she was clinging to a reanimated corpse intrude. She felt him tense, felt him try to pull away; she just tightened her hold on him. After a moment, she felt his arms come hesitantly up her sides and then wrap around her shoulders.

“Tahlindra… I…”

“Shhh,” she said, soothingly running her hands down his back. “It’s alright, Justice. I know what it’s like to long for home.”

“I… am not used to these _feelings._ ”

She smiled against his chest. “There is nothing wrong with ‘ _feelings_ ’, Justice. It’s just a part of being human… and you must be more than a little bit human by now. And if it helps you by being around me, I am happy to help.”

“I could not impose upon you in such a manner, Tahlindra,” he said; the note of desperate longing in his voice was so touchingly heartbreaking.

“We’re friends, Justice.” She reached up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, firmly ignoring the cold pallor of his skin. “Friends help each other when they need someone to lean on. You helped me with Aedan, and you’ve been so kind to me since I arrived. I would like to help you in return, if you would let me.”

“ _Friends,_ ” he said, testing the word carefully. The childlike hope in his eyes made her heart clench for a moment. “I would like very much to be your friend Tahlindra.”

She smiled widely. “Consider it done.”

***

Later that night as she lay drowsily in Anders’ arms, her conversation with Justice drifted back to her. “Anders?” she murmured, rolling over to face him.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled her ear as a means of answer and didn’t open his eyes.

“What’s it like in the Fade?” When he didn’t answer her she nipped him on his chin. His eyes flew open and he gave a startled grunt. “I said, what’s it like in the Fade?”

“Odd question for this time of night, sweetheart,” he said, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hand and stretching lazily. “Wouldn’t you rather talk about something more fun? Or not talk at all, perhaps? Let our bodies do the talking?”

She swatted him on the nose gently. “Be serious, you. I just want to know.” She recounted her conversation with Justice, ending with “And he just seemed so _sad_. I’ve never seen him really express emotions before and it made him so happy to just stand there with me.”

“So now I have to deal with a lovesick spirit chasing after you as well,” he grouched, pulling her up against him. The heat of his body was intoxicating and she couldn’t help the purr of appreciation that passed through her lips. She felt him smile into her hair. “Are you _sure_ you want to talk about the Fade now?”

“Positive,” she said, kissing his shoulder.

“Minx. Fine then.” He sighed and ran his hands slowly up and down her back. “It’s surreal, I can say that much. It’s like everything that you find in real life is there, but in a much purer form; the essence of the thing, I suppose. So food tastes better and the air is richer and the sex is _incredible_.” At this his hand dipped a little lower down her back, becoming less soothing and more teasing. “But the reverse is true- injuries hurt more, fear is a little more paralysing and the demons are much stronger there. And everything is less substantial. It’s the essence, but it’s not the true form of the thing. You know when you wake up after a dream and you think ‘ _wow, everything was so life like and real, I didn’t even know I was asleep!_ ’? It’s because the Fade is so much more real than anything we experience here. But then, at the same time it’s not real at all. Nothing is tangible there.”

“Poor Justice,” she said, twining her leg through his. She could feel the hard length of him pressed into her stomach. “It must be so confusing.” She paused as his hands sifted through her hair. “Have you really had sex in the Fade?”

“Me? Of course not! I’m a paragon of virtue, after all. I’ve simply heard rumours.”

“Scoundrel,” she said, kissing his bare skin again.

“If I tell you the truth, can we have sex now? It’s beneficial to reward good behaviour. Sets a pattern.”

She giggled and finally turned her face up to his. “Do you really want to talk about good behaviour right now?”


	16. Chapter 16

They were three days walk west of Amaranthine, heading towards a place high in the mountains on the border with Highever that the Commander had ominously referred to as the Dragonbone Wastes. Farmers in low-lying areas had reported seeing lights up in the hills and mysterious figures creeping across the far reaches of their pastures; given that the Mother had been ensconced in the caverns beneath the mountains for several years without anyone the wiser before she was killed, and that the graveyard of dragons seemed to attract cultists like moths to a flame, Defira had ordered for a sizeable party to hunt for sinister activity.

They’d stopped in the city first to collect more lyrium from the Chantry, Anders standing smirking at the back of the group while Denril presented the request to the Revered Mother. She was terse and more than a little abrupt, but she had an initiate fetch the supplies while she made small talk with the Warden Captain. When she turned her back, Tahlie elbowed Anders in the side and muttered “ _Be nice,_ ” which did nothing but earn her a pout. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore his childish glee at frustrating the Chantry’s laws. But he was so very adorable when he was happy like that; it was hard not to grin when she thought he wasn’t looking.

It was marvellous being away from the Keep, away from all the curious eyes and the petty intrigues that seemed to occupy the Bannorn. She didn’t envy Defira having to stay behind and deal with them; however that didn’t make the patrol a walk in the park either. She had been surprised to have been assigned to the group so quickly, but really she’d had weeks of time to prepare compared to some of the other Wardens. Apparently, if the stories were to be believed, Defira had slaughtered an entire tower full of darkspawn on her first night as a Warden, including an ogre, during the Battle of Ostagar; comparatively, Tahlie had been a Warden for nearly four weeks now and this was her first trip outside of Vigils Keep. The worst thing she’d had to fight was Sigrun in the Gauntlet, yet now she was trusted as part of a scouting party? Clearly someone higher up the ranks had more confidence in her abilities than she did.

They were travelling along the North Road, miles from anywhere with only each other for company, when Tahlie had felt an uncomfortable tugging sensation low in her belly, as if a hook was lodged deep within her and was being pulled from some distance away. The other Wardens ground to a halt instantly and reached for weapons, looking intently through the thin tree line.

The feeling of unease grew and Tahlie ran her hands up her arms nervously. “What is it?” she said, trying not to reveal her sudden nausea.

“Darkspawn,” Denril said grimly; his longbow was already in his hand and as he spoke he notched an arrow. “Only a small group. Maybe six or seven.”

She felt a hand on her lower back. “You’ll be okay,” Anders whispered, smiling reassuringly at her.

“Denril’ll kill half of ‘em before they even get close,” Reven said, drawing his greatsword reverentially. She could have sworn she saw him whisper lovingly to it, “And then the other half can be _ours_.”

“There,” Denril said, swinging his bow into position and aiming towards the south. “Confirmed count of seven. One Emissary.”

“Mine,” Anders said, twirling his staff flamboyantly and winking at Tahlie.

“Tahlindra, take the one flanking to the west,” Denril said as his first arrow flew from the string.

The nausea in her stomach grew as she spotted the creatures racing through the brush towards them. Her vision narrowed down until her world was comprised only of herself… and the monsters from her nightmares. To see them in the flesh again, to know what it was that had tormented her in the cave for those two days and nights, was utterly shattering. Even though she had seen darkspawn before in the attack on the caravan, even though she knew exactly what had taken her in the night and tried to turn her, seeing them now was like seeing them for the first time again.

She screamed and fell backwards, scrabbling away from them and paying no attention to the twigs and stones that stabbed into her palms. She thought she heard shouting, but the blood was rushing in her ears, pounding like drums and she couldn’t make out the words. Her back hit a tree and she pressed herself up against it, before her stomach heaved and she fell forward to her hands and knees, choking on the bile that burned her throat and mouth.

It felt like only seconds later when she felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched, whimpering in fear. “Sweetheart,” a familiar voice said, the sound tinny and echoing as if from a great distance. “It’s okay, Tahlie. They’re dead now.”

Panting for breath she glanced up to find Anders kneeling beside her with a gentle smile on his face. He stroked his fingers across her cheek before offering her his waterskin. “Here, clean yourself up,” he said, putting an arm around her and pulling her to her feet. When she swayed, he kept his arm around her to hold her up. As her senses returned to her, she felt her face burn with embarrassment at the realisation that she had completely lost control of herself. She rinsed her mouth with the water, spitting the last of the bitter taste onto the ground at her feet.

Denril approached her and she stared at the ground, trying to quickly compose an appropriate apology in her head. “Are you alright now, Warden?” he asked bluntly; when she struggled to answer, he cleared his throat in an obvious ‘ _get on with it_ ’ gesture. When words continued to fail her, he sighed. “Tahlindra, your reaction was completely normal. Please get a hold of yourself so that we can continue on.”

She hiccupped and finally glanced up at him. “What?”

“It is a rather regular occurrence for a Warden to struggle on their first meeting with darkspawn, even if they have encountered them before. You are more highly attuned to them than any normal person, so their presence is much more horrifying.”

“I even knew a Warden who fainted the first time he saw them after his Joining,” Anders said, deliberately looking at his fingernails.

Behind him, Reven made a sound of distress. “You swore you’d never tell anyone! I didn’t faint; I fell over and hit my head- that’s all that happened! No fainting!”

There was laughter and Tahlie suddenly felt remarkably at home amongst these men. The wonder of the moment must have shown in her eyes, for Anders grinned at her and enveloped her in a bear hug that had her squeaking when he crushed the air from her lungs. She tidied herself up as the men stripped the bodies of anything useful; Anders set them on fire for good measure, leaving the corpses smoking in a ditch as they set of along the road towards the looming mountains.

They were close to the foothills as the sun began to set, but rather than risking pushing on in dangerous terrain in the dark, Denril ordered them to make camp. After nearly a week on the road they had established a routine and they had themselves settled in comfortably just as the sun slipped below the horizon. Tahlie returned from collecting firewood to find Reven preparing the food for the evening meal- it was more than a little disturbing to watch him dicing small pieces of meat with his greatsword. How he managed to use the huge thing as a kitchen utensil was beyond her. Anders and Denril were seated nearby consulting a map of the Wastes; Anders had after all accompanied Defira in the battle against the Mother and had an idea of how an enemy might use the terrain to their advantage.

Anders drew first watch and winked at Tahlie as she crawled into the tent they’d been sharing; his pulse skittered as she blushed before ducking inside. Even after so many nights together, he could still turn her shy as a schoolgirl with just a look- and then later she would ravish his body until he was ready to scream for mercy. He grinned to himself, indulging himself with a selection of particularly dirty fantasies as a means to pass the time and stave off the loneliness as his three hours crawled by. He wandered around the camp, winding through the trees of the perimetre while his eyes fell to the tent she slept in time after time.

Eventually Tahlie staggered from the tent, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she crossed the campsite towards him. She smiled sleepily at him and turned her face up for a kiss. “I dreamed about you,” she murmured, snuggling into his chest and yawning widely.

“Oh you did, did you?” He grinned, his mind flitting over all the things that had occupied him for the last few hours. “You know I can’t go to bed now until I hear details. Was it dirty? Was I doing all manner of unspeakable things to your sexy body? Were you doing unspeakable things to _my_ body?”

She chuckled and pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Go to bed, you. I can just imagine the trouble we’d get into for getting distracted by smut when one of us is supposed to be guarding the camp.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I expect you to wake me in the most erotic fashion possible when you come to bed later.”

“ _Bed_ , Anders- don’t make me force you.” She laughed when he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. He did as he was told and turned towards the tent as she added “Goodnight, Anders. I love you.”

And he froze.

Three little words shouldn’t terrify him as much as those few did. Neither of them had broached the subject of love in these past few weeks, and that suited him just fine. But they hung there, branding the air between them as the silence grew longer while he tried to work out how to respond.

“I… um, thank you?” As soon as the words crossed his lips he was ready to slam his head against a nearby tree as punishment for his stupidity.

“Thank you?” Tahlie said, her tone incredulous. “That’s… that’s all? You don’t think you might have something you might want to say other than that?”

He spun back to her, plastering a smile on his face that he was sure looked as fake as it felt. “Tahlie, sweetheart, you know I adore you. I just didn’t think we were being that serious about things.”

He had never broken someone’s heart before, to the best of his knowledge, but he was fairly certain he saw the exact moment that he broke Tahlie’s. Her lips fell open, an almost noiseless ‘ _oh_ ’ passing from them. Her beautiful eyes, so full of life and love, grew impossibly wide and he watched as a reel of emotions spun through them at speed- incredulity became horror became shame became sorrow so complete that he nearly fell to his knees and begged her to forgive him.

“Right,” she said, tears shining in her eyes unshed even though her voice waivered. “Of course. We were just being casual. Having fun and whatnot.”

“Tahlie, I-”

“Please go to bed right now, Anders,” she said, lifting her chin and staring at him defiantly, though the show of strength was somewhat ruined by the tears that slipped onto her cheeks.

“Tahlie-”

“ _Please,_ ” she said, her voice now desperate, “ _just go_.”

Then she picked up her bow and walked out into the night. Leaving him standing by the fire wondering when he had decided freedom meant more to him than the beautiful woman who had given him her heart… and he had stomped on it.

***

Tahlie didn’t return to the tent that night, and he twisted and turned for hours before sleep finally claimed him. His nightmares were worse than normal that night, and he crawled out at dawn in a vastly irritable mood. Reven and Denril were both already up and moving, dismantling the campsite; both stopped what they were doing to look at him for a moment, their opinion of him written clearly across their faces.

“Hurry up, Warden,” Denril said, his tone remarkably cooler than it had been yesterday. “Breakfast is waiting for you, and you still have to take down your tent. We’re moving out in half an hour.”

“Where’s Tahlie?” he asked, grabbing up the last few pieces of bread and cheese that lay beside the dying embers of the fire. “She can take the tent down.”

He heard Reven behind him make a disgusted sound, but it was Denril who answered. “Tahlindra is scouting the way forward, as we sensed darkspawn in the area about ten minutes ago. As for the tent, she has already dismantled her _own_ tent; why she needs to do _yours_ as well is slightly beyond me.”

Anders glanced over to the other side of the campsite; sure enough, a pack sat propped against a tree with the tent folded neatly beside it ready to slide inside. Then Denril’s words got through to his sleep deprived brain and he stood up quickly. “Wait, darkspawn? You sent her out to fight darkspawn by herself?”

“It was a small group,” Denril said, “and she requested it. I didn’t see the harm. Now, if you don’t hurry up, Warden, we will be leaving you behind.”

Anders was dismantling his tent, muttering under his breath, when he heard the sounds of someone approaching through the scrub. He turned just in time to see Tahlie wander back into camp, her eyes slightly glazed and her body covered in blood. His cry of alarm alerted Denril and Reven to her presence, and the Warden Captain reached her side before he could.

“Tahlindra! Are you alright?” Denril grasped her by both shoulders, as if he meant to shake her.

She blinked several times before focussing on his face. “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. The darkspawn are dead. I’ve cleared the way forward.”

“Report, then,” he said, stepping back and looking dubiously at the gore splattered across her body. “Are you injured at all?”

“No, no, this is their blood,” she said gesturing vaguely to the mess she was caked in. She seemed distracted, as if she was having trouble concentrating. “Report. Yes, of course. Fourteen darkspawn total, two emissaries and-”

“ _Fourteen?_ ” Anders spun on Denril. “You said it was only a small group! Why did you let her fight fourteen by herself?”

Denril frowned. “It was only a small group. I could only sense a handful. Tahlindra, are you sure?”

It was her turn to frown. “Fairly certain. I guess I could have been wrong…”

The Warden Captain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Reven, run up ahead and find the bodies. Count them for me. Tahlindra, go down to the creek and get yourself cleaned up. You’ve both got ten minutes; I don’t want to sit around twiddling my thumbs all day.”

When Tahlie wandered off in the vague direction of the creek, Anders went to follow. Denril’s hand locked forcefully around his arm and held him in place like a vice. Anders looked down at the hand and then up to his Captain. “With all due respect, ser, _let go._ ”

“With no respect intended at all, Warden, _no._ ” Denril’s eyes were furious. “I don’t know what you did or said to Tahlindra, but I object to the two of you putting this mission in jeopardy because of your problematic personal life. Leave her alone. If you make this worse, I will see you get shipped off to Weisshaupt faster than you can blink.”

Reven returned quickly and confirmed the kill count- and it was indeed fourteen. His eyes were wide as he described the carnage, the utter destruction that had been wrought upon the bodies. When Tahlie arrived back at camp, her skin pink from furious scrubbing and her eyes clear of the fugue that had engulfed her earlier, the men all eyed her carefully but said nothing.

***

The climb into the mountains was not as troublesome as Denril had anticipated and they made good time. When the sun began to set, Denril consulted the map for several minutes before announcing that they were close enough to press on.

The moon was full and hanging high in the sky by the time they crested the final rise and were greeted by the sight of overgrown paths winding between piles of huge and sinister bones. The air was still and all of them had weapons drawn in preparation for meeting whatever had been spooking the country folk these past few weeks. There was no movement in the graveyard, but that didn’t necessarily mean that whatever lurked nearby couldn’t be hiding in the Tevinter ruins that stretched for miles underground.

The sheer number of skeletons was terrifying; Tahlie gave up trying to count how many dragons it would take to leave so many bones. Looking at the empty eye sockets staring back at her, framed by enormous horned skulls, Tahlie shivered and kept her bow drawn taut.

Behind her, she could feel Anders keeping close to her and she stiffened when his hand brushed against her hip. She shot him a warning look over her shoulder and the sad puppy dog look in his eyes nearly made her smile in apology. Then she remembered the humiliation she had felt the night before and she turned her back on him. She heard him sigh and tried not to soften. She had ignored him for the whole day, mortified beyond belief at his callous words from the night before and ashamed of herself for falling so easily to his seductive charms. Even now, a full day later, the memory of the words stung enough to make her bite back a moan and try to surreptitiously wipe the tears from her eyes.

They wound through the graveyard, the ruined tower that signalled the entrance to the underground growing ever closer. Anders stared at Tahlie, watching the way her hips swayed even when she was trying to be stealthy, or the way her hair curled just so perfectly against the alabaster skin of her neck, or the way it escaped from whatever braid she tried to tie it into. He wanted to press himself up against her back, letting his fingers sift through the inky softness of her hair and teasing her about her failed attempt to tame it again. He wanted to put his hands on those hips, trace the curves as she moved against him in that way she did so perfectly.

Three little words; why couldn’t he say three stupid little words? Was it the fear of losing his freedom to her, tying himself to her in a way that could only be broken in the messiest of ways? He was used to the petty trysts and physical infatuations that ruled the Circle Tower; he had never even come _close_ to feeling love for a partner before but Tahlie astounded and delighted him at every turn. He wanted her beside him every moment of every day, wanted to hear her call his name in ecstasy every night.

But he couldn’t tell her that. And now he’d hurt her with his stupidity and he had no idea how to fix things. If she ignored him for much longer he might go entirely mad. Maybe if he could just work out how to say those three stupid words…

They stepped into the wide clearing that stood at the base of the tower; the entrance to the underground was like a gaping black maw, more than a little threatening in the middle of the night. As they reached the halfway point of the clearing, Anders felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention; he spun around searching for a threat as the other three followed suit, clearly sensing the threat in the air as well.

Shadows slipped around the outside of the clearing, hemming them in and blocking their escape. A quick count and he muttered “I count eighteen.”

“Eighteen confirmed,” Denril said in a low voice. The four of them stood back to back, facing the unknown foes who had yet to move against them. “Not darkspawn either. They are all human.”

“One mage in their ranks,” he said, eyes slipping to a figure that stood slightly apart of the circle around them. The shadow was quite distinctly female and his sixth sense screamed in warning as he stared, trying to make out any details. As it was, he didn’t have to wait long for the enemy to come to him.

“Why, hello Tahlindra.” The female figure swept out of the shadows and into the moonlight. At his side he heard Tahlie’s shocked intake of breath and he tensed as he recognised the raven haired beauty before them. Melissandra smiled, her white teeth glittering like a predator’s as she threw her arms open in welcome. “And here I was thinking I’d have to march down to Vigils Keep itself and bang on the front door.”

“Meli,” Tahlie whispered, her face gone deathly pale. “What are you doing here?”

Her twin cocked her head to the side and her smile widened. “Why do you think? I have come for you, Tahlie.”


	17. Chapter 17

Around the edge of the clearing, the shadowed figures stepped into the light, following Melissandra’s lead. The men were huge, with bulging muscles and deep scars scratched across every spare inch of skin. They did not draw their weapons but closed in on the Wardens slowly, until the containment line was half the size it was moments ago. Melissandra floated ahead of them, her arms still open wide as she approached her sister.

“What, nothing to say darling Tahlie?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. In the six years since he had last seen her, Melissandra had grown even more impossibly beautiful. Her features were so utterly exquisite, as if each line of her face had been chosen by the Maker himself with careful deliberation. But despite her allure, he felt nothing when he looked at her other than contempt. Her eyes sparkled, but with cruelty instead of love. Her lips were full and red, but they turned up with a smirk, not with laughter. She was beautiful, but in a cold way- the same way you would admire a statue and acknowledge the skill of the craftsman. Tahlie, in comparison, was so full of life that… wait, what was he doing? _Melissandra appears in a graveyard in the dead of night and you stop to compare their looks? Well done Anders._

“What are you doing here, Meli?” Tahlie said again, her voice rough with emotion. He wanted desperately to hug her at that moment, offer her comfort, but he had to hold formation against the large group of burly men who looked like they wanted to _eat_ them. Also, he had no guarantee Tahlie wouldn’t try to gut him with an arrow. “I mean, the whole story. Why have you come for me now? It’s been six years.”

“I take it you know this individual, Warden?” Denril’s voice, so stern and authoritarian, seemed out of place while hemmed in by an ambush.

“She… she is my sister,” Tahlie said, the words sounding strange in her mouth. She had never thought to say them again. “My twin sister. She ran away to Tevinter when we were sixteen…”

Melissandra drifted closer, her movements so graceful that it was like her feet didn’t even touch the ground. “I am so sorry that it took me so long to find you,” she said, sorrow blooming across her face. “When word of the Blight reached us, I argued with father about coming to rescue you and mother. He forbade me from going. But then the Archon himself declared that there would be an expedition to Ferelden, to recover artefacts lost in the great city of Drake’s Fall, before the land fell under the Blight entirely. I stood in the assembly and fought for my right to lead the expedition, so that I could try to find you.”

“She’s a Magister,” Anders said, his stomach plummeting into his shoes in fear. “Only Magisters are allowed into the assembly.”

“Andraste’s tits, she can’t be more than twenty-three,” Reven said, fear and respect in his voice.

“Twenty-two,” Tahlie rasped, staring at the woman she had desperately longed to return for all these years. Now she was here before her and all she felt was confusion, not relief.

“The arguments went back and forth for months,” Melissandra said, ignoring the men and speaking directly to Tahlie. “And by the time we had resolved a plan of action, the Blight had ended, the Archdemon slain at the hands of your Hero. The stories of the devastation seemed immense, and I wept at night to think I might have abandoned you to your death because of wretched politics.”

“The Blight has been over for nearly eight months, mage,” Denril said firmly. “State your true purpose. Why would a Magister enter the country without first contacting the King?”

Melissandra finally acknowledged someone’s presence other than her sister. “Magisters are rarely welcome beyond the borders of Tevinter, Warden,” she said, smiling coyly at him. “Or did you assume we were stupid as well as vain? That we would just prance into the capital and demand our rights to trophies long ago lost to us? Please, Warden. Have some respect for my intelligence.”

“Well, if it is as you claim, why has it taken you so long to contact your sister? With your words one would have thought the task was more urgent than your actions seem to make it.”

She chuckled, the sound low and sultry. “And how would you go about finding a needle in a haystack, Warden? I came from the opposite side of the world, to find someone whom I had not heard from in six years. I went to our childhood home, only to find my mother had perished at the hands of fiends and my sister, destitute and injured, had departed some time ago. No one knew where she was headed. Trying to find her was like trying to grasp at smoke. By the time I finally tracked her to Vigil’s Keep, it was too late. The darkspawn had violated her and then you forced her into servitude, bound to eternally face the creatures that hurt her so grievously.”

“We saved her life,” Anders spat, gripping his staff so tightly he was worried it might snap.

Melissandra looked at him for the first time, a smile playing across her lips. “What a surprise. Darling Anders, how are you? I had heard of your involvement with this little band of heroes, but I couldn’t quite reconcile the selfish man I knew with the stories I heard.”

“You’re not fooling anyone with this act, Mel. What are you doing here?”

Something dark flickered through her eyes- something angry and immensely powerful. “I am _here_ for my _sister_ ,” she said, her posture changing from demurely menacing to outright hostile. “She has suffered enough for the sake of your foolish cause and she is coming with me to be with people who will love her and care for her. Not pit her against monsters.”

“Well, I think you’re forgetting that you can’t just snatch her away without her consent. And I’m fairly certain that Tahlie will not want to go with you just because you turn up and announce that it is happening.” He turned to her then. “Tell her, Tahlie. You’re happy with the Wardens, aren’t you?”

Melissandra made a small noise of distress and her hand flew to her mouth in alarm; he couldn’t help but think that it was such a perfectly rehearsed move, the gesture so flawless that he almost wanted to clap in admiration. The hostility was gone, replaced by this gentle creature full of grace and emotion. “Oh, Anders, how could you?” she gasped, the inflections in her voice pitched so perfectly. Clearly her skills had only increased in the years since their escape together. “You seduced my sister? I had no idea when I ended things with you that you would be so desperate that you would bed my twin just to pretend you still held my affections.”

Well, _fuck._

Beside him, Tahlie went deathly still.

“Are you off your head, Mel?” He tried to sound casual and sneering, humorous even. Inside, he was already screaming every curse he could possibly think of, even resorting to some of the more disgusting ones he’d heard Oghren use on special occasions. “In what possible way could you possibly describe what happened between us as being affectionate?”

“Oh, _Tahlie_ , I am so sorry,” she said, gliding across the ground towards her sister and placing a hand delicately on her shoulder. Everything she did was so deliberate, as she built this persona of a dainty, caring woman in the heads of her audience. Her movements made her seem fragile, her voice made her seem gentle. Her performance was masterful. “I should have told you all those years ago. That was why we escaped together- Anders and I were lovers. When I told him I didn’t want to keep running with him, that I wanted to stay with you and mother, he grew so furious and irrational that I told him it was over. He left that very night and I assumed that would be the last we saw of him. I didn’t mean for him to _use you_ like this…”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” he snarled, his temper fraying quickly. “You whored yourself to me, to guarantee I’d help you get out. It was a two minute fuck in a stairwell. And the only reason you stayed in Gwaren was because being a fugitive wasn’t as glamorous as you thought it would be and you were too precious to sleep in anymore barns or creek beds.”

“I should have come for you sooner,” Melissandra said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Tahlie’s eyes. “Before this had a chance to escalate; I should have looked harder. Tahlie, can you ever forgive me? Please, let me make it up to you. Let me take you home.”

“Home?” Tahlie finally responded to the accusations ringing out around her. Anders nearly cried out in despair when he saw her chin tremble and a single tear drop onto her cheek. In the moonlight, it glowed like crystal against her pale skin. “Gwaren?”

Melissandra shook her head, her expression gentle as she stroked Tahlie’s cheek. “No, sweet one, not Gwaren. Not that festering mud hole. Our home is Tevinter- we have a fine house, with servants and silken sheets and all the luxuries your heart desires. You can leave behind this brutal life, where everyone expects you to prove your strength and your innocence at every turn.”

Tahlie didn’t respond, but the first tear was joined by a second and then a third.

“No more monsters,” Melissandra whispered, brushing the tears away with her thumbs. “You will be safe with me. You will live in the style you deserve, with me and my children-”

“Children?” Tahlie’s voice broke on that single word. “You have children? I am an aunt?”

Melissandra smiled softly at her. “You _are_ , sweet one. I have a son and a daughter. They deserve to grow up knowing the love of their aunt. I long to have you there, so that we can be a family again. Can you imagine what it would be like?”

Tahlie’s eyes closed and the sound that emerged from her lips was so heartbroken that it sent a chill down the spine of all those present.

Unable to hold back the horror he felt any longer, Anders blurted out “Tahlie, no! Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s just telling you everything you want to hear, trying to lure you away. Don’t trust her!”

She shuddered and she didn’t look at him as she whispered “I deserve to have someone tell me all the things I want to hear.”

A deathly silence fell over the clearing. Not even the wind stirred the branches of the dead trees overhead.

“Tahlie,” he choked, his entire body feeling so hollow that he wondered why he wasn’t floating several inches above the ground. “Tahlie, I…”

“Oh, by the bloody Maker, he loves you!” Reven barged forward, grabbing Anders by the forearm and attempting to drag him closer to Tahlie. “Go on, say it: three little words. I. Love. You.”

“Reven, please stop,” Tahlie said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“He never even said that he loved you?” Melissandra said, her expression one of mild horror.

“ _Tahlie_ ,” he said, the word desperate. Inside he railed and screamed at himself. _By the fucking Maker, say it! I love you, Tahlie, I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyou! Just fucking say it!_ But no matter how hard he tried, the words wouldn’t come out. “Tahlie-”

“ _Don’t,_ ” she cried, a sob breaking from her at the end.

“Warden,” Denril said in a tone that was probably supposed to be a warning, but really came out rather rough. As if he too was struggling with emotions. “You commitment to the Wardens is not something you can walk away from just because it suits you. I cannot allow-”

“You cannot allow _what_ , Warden?” Melissandra said breathily, gliding over to face him. Her fingers began to toy with the various straps and belts across his chest; Anders could have sworn he saw Denril swallow uncomfortably. “Are you saying you disagree with my claim to my sister? That you wish to fight me for the rights to her? Aren’t you worried that might be a teensy bit of a bad idea?”

Bloody Maker, she was threatening them. She was standing on Ferelden soil, a hated Magister, threatening to kill Grey Wardens if they didn’t hand over one of their own. Anders glanced sideways to Reven, who still had hold of his arm; from the look on the elf’s face, he too had reached the same conclusion. At Melissandra’s words, the men surrounding them very slowly put their hands on the hilts of their blades.

“Tahlie will come with me, and I will leave Ferelden forever, never to bother you again,” Melissandra said slowly, her fingers now tracing along Denril’s jaw. He was staring over her head, his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were likely to shatter any second now. “The Grey Wardens will relinquish any claims on her. They are never to search for her. She is my beloved sister, and I will not allow her to endure a life of servitude, or a life of looking over her shoulder for hunters. From this moment on, she is free of you.”

“Tahlie, don’t do this!” Anders finally said, desperate enough not to care that he sounded like he was begging. He pulled himself from Reven and grabbed her, pulling her up against him. “It’s a trap, don’t you see? She wants something from you-”

“The same way you did?” Tahlie snapped, wrenching herself out of his arms with tears streaming down her cheeks. “You just wanted me for sex. Because of some… some… perverted fantasy, or because you were bored or… something! You don’t have the right to dictate my actions, or be jealous of my sister, because you never made a claim on me.”

“Tahlie, I-”

“Shut up, Anders! I don’t want to hear your lies anymore!”

“ _I love you!_ ” His mouth hung open as he realised what exactly it was he’d said. Strangely enough, it still felt like his whole world was ending- but not for the reasons he’d always assumed.

As he watched, Tahlie’s face crumpled and she buried her face in her hands and wept. Melissandra was at her side a moment later, wrapping her arms around her and cooing comforting words. “That is fucking pathetic, Anders,” she said, her voice cold and dripping with scorn. “Of all the things I thought you capable of, I didn’t think lying to an innocent girl until you broke her spirit was one of them. Emotional blackmail is a dirty way to play.”

He gaped at her, unsure of what he’d just heard. “Then what the fuck are you doing, if not emotional blackmail? Promising her the sun and the moon if only she’ll follow you.”

Melissandra’s smile was sinister, eyes glittering with malice as she said, “Well, by all means, Anders, if you mean what you say… then say it again. Tell Tahlindra exactly how you feel. Without lying.”

And then his body froze again, his sense of preservation seizing control and holding his tongue in place. He choked as he tried to say the words, desperately trying to get something past his lips. But nothing came.

In Melissandra’s arms, Tahlie wept even harder, clinging to her sister as if she were a lifeline in a stormy ocean. The triumphant look in the Magisters’ eyes was chilling. “Tahlindra is coming with me,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister. “I think it is clear to everyone here that she has made the decision herself. And if any of you should even _think_ to follow…” The hand that stroked Tahlie’s back changed; there was a glitter in the night as the skin bubbled and reformed with claws and scales. “I will defend her to the death.”

“ _No_ ,” Anders said, his head growing light as his horror grew. “No, no, no… _Tahlie…_ ”

“Is no longer your responsibility,” Melissandra finished for him. The dragon hand shimmered and was human skin again. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you broke her heart.” She gestured to the silent men around them. “Bind them. Take their weapons and if they resist… _kill them_.”

“ _Tahlie!_ ” he screamed, lunging forward. One of the men stepped into his path and cracked him on the temple with the hilt of his blade. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Tahlie’s tear stained face gazing back at him over Melissandra’s shoulder.


	18. Chapter 18

_Several weeks later_

He was so very, very drunk. He couldn’t even remember when he’d started drinking, only that the point of it had been something to do with forgetting something. At least he’d achieved something then, since he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be forgetting. That was good, wasn’t it? Although there was an awfully large number of empty bottles on the table in front of him… that must count as some kind of achievement as well, surely. He tried to count them- and gave up at three. Any more than that just seemed far too hard at the moment.

He heard a high pitched giggle and a buxom figure climbed into his lap. Blinking, he tried to focus on the blonde sitting astride him, whose hands were drifting to places that should really be left alone in public places. “Who’re you?” he slurred.

She giggled again and swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “ _Tira_ , silly,” she said, as if it were something she had said half a dozen times at least. “But you keep calling me Tahlie. Don’t mind really. Whoever she is, I don’t mind gettin’ her name if that’s how you’re used to sayin’ hello to her.”

 _Tahlie._

Bloody fucking Maker. Now he remembered why he was drunk.

He shoved the blonde from his lap; when she complained, loudly and with an irritating whine, he slapped a handful of coins clumsily into her hand. “Get more… something,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the empty bottles arrayed before him. “More of that.” She flounced off to the bar, the movement making his head spin; he groaned and slumped down head first onto the table.

She’d left him. _She’d left him!_ She’d picked her _fucking_ sister over him. He’d even said those stupid words that she wanted to hear so badly, in front of everyone no less, and it wasn’t enough for her. Nothing he did was good enough, no no, not for precious _Tahlindra._

Maker but he missed her so much. No, scrap that thought, he didn’t miss her at all. He wasn’t interested in jumping through hoops for someone, just to have them turn away from him with so little provocation. At what point had he ever given her reason to not trust him? He’d treated her with nothing but the utmost reverence, and he’d loved her with actions if not with words. Why did words have to mean so much? Stupid fucking words. Maker but he missed her.

He needed to get drunk. Well, _more_ drunk. Right now thinking was just more trouble than it was worth.

He heard the chair opposite him scrape across the stone but he didn’t look up. When the blonde came back to the table, he heard her do some stupidly pouty sound, as if finding someone else sitting at the table had ruined her evening entirely.

“Just leave the bottle on the table, would you miss?” Anders gritted his teeth as he recognised the voice; he stubbornly didn’t look up. “And you can keep whatever change there was. Anders would prefer to be alone tonight.”

She giggled as a means of agreeing and she sashayed away, probably to find another sap to ply her trade on for the night.

“Was usin’ her,” he muttered, his face smooshed into the wooden table top. “That was my coin.”

“Yes, well, I figured that since you’d already had three weeks to drink yourself into a stupor, it was about time you sobered up and got back to your duties.” Alistair didn’t sound nearly as smug as he probably could have been, given the situation. “I know, I know, call me a killjoy, but dying from liver failure doesn’t really seem to be a fun way to go out.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” Anders slurred, still not bothering to look at him.

Alistair was silent for a long time, and Anders began to wonder if he was so drunk he’d just thought the question, rather than getting around to saying it aloud. Finally he spoke. “A few months ago,” he said slowly, testing each word as he said it, “I was very drunk, in a bar in Denerim, because someone had sent me a letter. An acquaintance, I suppose you could say. The letter accused me of all manner of things, the most important being that I had put my own pride ahead of the woman I loved, whom I had scorned. And I was so angry that someone would dare say that to me that my response was to defy them. To prove that I didn’t need her, or their advice.”

“Sound reasoning,” Anders said to the table top.

“Oh, I thought so at the time. So I went and I got very drunk and I didn’t stop drinking for several days.” He smiled wryly at the memory. “And eventually, I found that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t change how much it hurt to miss her. And so I got angrier and I kept drinking.”

“Sounds remarkably familiar.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it,” he said. He frowned at the number of bottles on the table between them and indicated subtly for the barkeep to clear them away. “Anyway, after I’d thoroughly soaked myself in cheap alcohol, a few people who were close to me decided enough was enough and dragged my sorry self out of there and made me sober up. A week later, I was sensible enough to admit I had to try and make amends. A month after that and I had Defira back.”

Anders finally managed to claw his way upright, though he swayed in the chair. “See, here’sa problem with your little morality tale,” he slurred. He blinked. “Morality. Moor aaaa leh tee. Huh. Strange word. Anyway, the problem is, your woman didn’t hate you so much that she lef’ the country. She was at least amiable to your crawling back to her. Me? Mine’d sic her crazy bitch Magister sister on me if I tried to get in the same city as ‘er. Sooo- kindly sod off, y’Majesty.”

Alistair swum backwards and forwards in front of him as his vision wavered. He _did_ see him smile. “Wrong answer, Pigtails.”

Anders felt hands clamp around his upper arms and he was suddenly jerked backwards out of the chair. He yelled in alarm and tried to struggle free, but the excessive alcohol in his system seemed to have destroyed his motor skills.

“Stop squirming, Sparkles,” a booming voice echoed through the room and through his head. He heard Oghren snicker as they dragged him towards the staircase, up towards the private quarters in The Crown and Lion. “Boss Lady said we had to do whatever Chantry Boy wanted us to do to you. So we’re gonna have _fun_ with _you_.”

They dragged him upstairs, seeming to take deliberate glee in making sure each step cracked against his hipbone; as wildly as he kicked and fought them, he was no match for them. Alistair followed slowly, a grin on his stupid kingly face, staying well out of range of any violent flailing. He couldn’t see who held him, other than hearing Oghren cackle with joy.

The next few hours were torturous. The bath in the chamber they dragged him to was already full, and as they threw him into it he had time to note that no steam rose from the surface. The moment he was submerged, he realised why- it was fucking _freezing_. He yelped as he broke the surface, spluttering for air as the cold leeched instantly into his bones. “ _Andraste’s tits!_ ”

Alistair stood at the side of the bath, his face a mask of elaborate concentration. Oghren stood beside him, almost dancing from foot to foot in his glee. Justice was standing just inside the doorway, his face as stoic as ever.

“Hmm,” Alistair said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Does he look sober to you yet?”

Oghren snickered. “I’ve seen town drunks who looked better than him.”

“That’s what I thought. Push him under.”

Anders didn’t even have time to protest before the dwarf grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him back under the water. The process continued like that for quite a while.

Eventually, the fugue that the alcohol had woven over his brain began to lift; which was good timing, as the hangover began to kick in instead. When they were satisfied that the worst of his slurring had passed, they fished him shivering from the icy water and let him change out of his sodden clothes behind the screen. His eyes were still unfocussed and his sentences weren’t quite coherent, but it was an improvement. Then the pain began to build in his head, and his stomach began to feel remarkably queasy and it wasn’t long before he was bed ridden, moaning pitifully and throwing up with alarming frequency.

As the night dragged on, Alistair and Oghren left for adjoining rooms to sleep, while Justice pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat vigil over him.

“ _Maker_ , I will never, _ever_ drink again,” Anders moaned, holding his head between his hands as his vision swum from the pain. “Blessed Andraste, never, ever _ever_.”

“You speak with such fervour, but I have heard similar oaths from men in Vigils Keep, and not a single one of them keeps to their promise. Is this normal practise, to ignore one’s vows when it comes to imbibing?”

“Too many big words,” Anders said, rubbing his temples in the vain hope the throbbing would stop. “But yes, everyone swears never to touch alcohol again and then they’ll be on it a week later. It’s a delicious cycle of self-loathing.”

“A delicious cycle? I’m afraid I do not understand.”

Anders felt his stomach heave again and paused the conversation to be noisily ill. “Alcohol tastes _great_ ,” he said, flopping onto his side once the lurching of his innards had died down. “And for the first few hours it makes you _feel_ great too. Pleasantly numb. Then everything goes downhill quickly.”

“And you are drinking with the sole purpose of trying to ignore Tahlindra’s desertion, yes?” There was a strong note of longing in the spirit’s voice; Anders tried to ignore the spike of jealousy he felt knowing someone else was upset at her vanishing act. Trying to reassure himself it was a mostly asexual Fade spirit didn’t calm his temper.

“Yes, Justice, I’m trying to drink away the memory of Tahlie so that I don’t have to think about not having her here anymore.”

“Why would you wish to forget her? I would have thought, given the depths of your affections for her, that you would wish to retain the memory of her for as long as possible. Why do you wish to lose that? I would not wish to lose that.”

Anders groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. “Because I hurt her feelings. I was an arse, and I broke her heart and I don’t deserve her but Maker I miss her so much. But I can’t think about her without remembering the look on her face that night, and I don’t want to remember her that way. She deserved better than that.” _So much better._

“Why not simply apologise to her? It is clear from your despair that you are contrite for your actions; if you are sincere she could not find fault with your apology.”

“There’s no point,” he moaned, clutching the pillow to his stomach as it roiled about wildly. “She hates me. She hates me so much and she’s right to.”

“How can you claim to know the mind of another?” said Justice, his tone genuinely curious. “Especially the mind of a woman you have not seen in a month.”

“’S a good point,” Anders said, groaning as another wave of nausea swept through him. “No one knows the mind of a woman. They’re all crazy.”

“Are they?” The spirit seemed vastly confused. “I had not noticed this. I will endeavour to pay more attention to the females in the Keep, to see if they are indeed insane.”

Anders couldn’t help but laugh, but the action didn’t go well for him; he snatched up the chamber pot and heaved violently. When the churning in his stomach died down, he lay back against the bed gasping. “I will never, _ever_ drink ever again,” he said, panting for breath. “Please, can we talk about something else? I was drinking to try and forget what an idiot I was. Being sober makes that kind of hard.”

“Very well,” Justice said, his mood lifting noticeably. “We shall discuss the plight of the mages. Surely that will be enough to distract you. I find it curious as to why no one else finds the treatment of mages inhumane and unjust. The things you yourself have described to me are almost beyond my comprehension.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he just sighed. It was a distraction, after all. “Very well, Justice. Let’s talk about mages.”

***

Tahlie gazed out of the carriage window with dead eyes. They were on the outskirts of Marnus Pell, a sprawling metropolis of a city that her sister had described in great detail on the journey from Ferelden. In fact, she had greatly elaborated on the wonders of the Imperium as a whole, making it sound like a paradise upon the earth, with riches and luxury and a lifestyle that was the envy of kings. So far, it wasn’t really living up to the hype.

The city’s glory days were clearly long gone; there were enough towering statues and crumbling mosaics and abandoned marble fronted buildings for her to see that this was once a place of great beauty and power. And it was so _vast_ , the towers and minarets stretching as far as the eye could see. But the statues were weather worn, the buildings seemed decayed and ancient, and there was grime in the street and graffiti on the walls. Worse still, she could see the hungry eyes staring at the carriage as it rolled past, hundreds upon hundreds of poor and destitute, whose numbers only grew the closer they trundled to the city centre.

“See there, Tahlie?” Melissandra pulled her from her daydreams, tugging on her arm and pointing out the opposite window. “That marble domed building on the hill? That is the Marnus Pell assembly: I spend most of my time there, helping the other few Magisters here to govern, and then for part of the year we will live in Minrathous, so that I can attend the Archon’s court.”

The centre of all Magister power in Thedas. “How long are we there for?” she asked, not really curious but feeling that she should contribute something to the conversation.

“Three or four months, depending on how the political season runs. We have a lovely estate in Minrathous, although not quite as nice as home.” She patted Tahlie on the hand in a soothing manner, her smile wide and genuine. “I’m sure you will love it. Oh, and the children will adore you. I sent word ahead that we would arrive today and I’m certain they will be climbing the walls in excitement by now.”

Tahlie managed a small smile at that. _Children_. A niece and a nephew. If she couldn’t have a family of her own, it was the next best thing. “And will their father be at home, anxiously awaiting your return?”

Melissandra gave her a startled look before chuckling. “Oh, Tahlie, dear heart, no! I have next to no contact with the children’s fathers.”

“Fathers? As in, plural?”

“Yes. I picked both men for their connections within the assembly and the strength of the magic in their family line. They are of course entitled to see their child if they so wish, but they rarely do. I raise them alone.”

Tahlie felt taken aback. “So you are not married? I had assumed…”

Melissandra laughed gently. “Oh, dear heart,” she said, brushing the hair out of Tahlie’s eyes. “We are much more practical about family and children and affairs of the heart here in Tevinter. Don’t get me wrong, love is certainly present in many households. But one cannot hold out forever in the pursuit of love- family lines must continue, after all, and there is power to be had in making the right connection with the right House.”

“Oh,” was all Tahlie could really say to that.

Her sister looked at her curiously, and then her eyes flared with panic. “Oh, Tahlie, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to mention love. You’re thinking about Anders again, aren’t you?”

“It’s… hard not to,” she said quietly.

Melissandra drew her into her arms, tucking her head under her chin as her hand ran soothingly down her back. “Well, you just stop thinking about that foolish man, you hear me? We are together again, we’re a family!” She chuckled. “And when we get home, I will let you borrow Marcus, my favourite slave. One ride with him and you’ll be seeing stars for a week! I guarantee you’ll forget that horrid mage in no time!”

The streets grew quieter, the cobblestones under the carriage wheels smoothing out as if the road beneath was well tended. Looking out the window, Tahlie could see that the filth and decay had fallen behind them some time ago; the street was tree lined and serene, with stately mansions hidden amongst the greenery. And she stared until her eyes hurt, because at least while she was distracted by the scenery she couldn’t let her mind wander to memories of long, sultry nights with Anders, whom her sister was suggesting could easily be forgotten with a quick tumble with a slave.

She stared at the towers and the colourful pennants fluttering in the wind, trying not to think of the way he would groan when she touched him _just so_. She watched the children running about merrily in yards, not seeing them as her mind drifted to the way he would smile so triumphantly when he pushed her to climax, moaning and writhing while he looked on smugly. She gazed at the opulent facades on the front of the mansions, instead only seeing the way he looked at her so fiercely when they came together perfectly, as if they’d-

“Are you alright, Tahlie? Your face is all red, and you’re breathing unevenly. Is something wrong?”

Tahlie flushed, straightening in the seat and making a great show of fixing her clothes. “Oh, I just… I was just daydreaming.” She pressed her thighs together, hoping the heat in her core would die down soon. “I’m so tired from all the traveling; it’s just a bit hard to concentrate sometimes.”

Melissandra smiled indulgently. “Not long now, dear heart, and then you can stretch your legs. Nearly home!”

Her words proved true, for less than a minute later the carriage rolled to a halt in front of a towering edifice of marble pillars and endless glass windows. Now glass- _that_ was a luxury. Having spent every winter in Gwaren cursing the bitter winds that surged through the rickety window covers, Tahlie had never seen so much glass in her entire life. But the front of Melissandra’s home glittered like diamonds, and as she gaped in awe, her eyes were drawn to the splash of colour on the ground. She gasped as she took in the immense mosaic that paved the ground between them and the wide front doors, depicting scenes of magical battle and war against strange horned men. The sheer opulence of such a display was staggering and Tahlie felt her head spinning a little.

Melissandra climbed out of the coach with the bearing of a queen, handed out by two of her slaves; Tahlie was halfway through the door when the same treatment was offered to her. “Oh no, that’s fine, I don’t-” She didn’t get any further as both of the men grasped her gently by the arms and lifted her delicately onto the mosaic; she fought the urge to hop from one foot to the other, desperate to keep her shoes off such a beautiful piece of artistry.

“ _Mama!_ ” Tahlie spun about, her heart lurching at the cry that came from the mouth of a child. Around the corner of the house, two small figures came dashing at breakneck speed towards them, closely followed by a bedraggled elven woman who blanched when she saw what had caught their attention. Melissandra merely knelt and held out her arms to the two children. Expecting them to hurl themselves at her, Tahlie was surprised to see them skid to a halt a pace away and step decorously into her arms.

“Hello, my darlings,” Melissandra said, placing a firm kiss on the forehead of each. Tahlie felt her knees grow weak as she stared at the scene, her breathing growing shallow. “Were you good for your nurses?”

“Yes, mother, but you were gone for such a very long time,” said the little girl, who seemed the older of the two. She had inherited Melissandra’s tumbling black hair and pouting mouth, which she seemed to be putting to good use now. “Did you bring us many presents?”

“Yes, mama, did you bring us presents?” The little boy, his hair shockingly blond, tugged ferociously on Melissandra’s sleeve.

Melissandra smiled widely at them. “I have brought you something better than a present,” she said, letting go of them as she stood. She took a step backwards, drawing their attention to Tahlie in the shade of the carriage. “I have brought you an aunt. Braccius, Aloesia- say hello to your aunt Tahlindra.”

Tahlie felt tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at them, dumbstruck to see children with features so similar to her own. _As if they were mine_ , she thought faintly.

Aloesia stamped her foot. “That’s a stupid present. I want shiny things.”

Melissandra cuffed her over the back of the head. “That’s an awful thing to say, child. Go to your aunt and apologise. Say hello properly, not like some guttersnipe whore.”

Too overwhelmed at seeing them, Tahlie did not register the callous words her sister used to discipline them. She knelt before them, hardly aware of the way they crept sullenly forward. Her eyes, full of tears that began to streak down her cheeks, traced their beautiful little faces, lingering on Braccius. _My face, with blond hair. Almost as if Anders and I-_

“Hullo, Aunt Tahlindra,” Aloesia said sourly.

“Hullo, Aunt Tallinda,” Braccius repeated poorly.

Hearing the toddler stumble over her name broke her; she burst into tears and threw her arms around them, kissing them all over their hair and their foreheads. They squawked in alarm and tried to wriggle free; after a moment she gave them their freedom, silently weeping as she stared at them.

“I am very pleased to meet you both,” she choked, stroking their cheeks reverentially. “Your mother has told me so much about you.”

“ _Now_ do we get presents?” Aloesia said, spinning back to face her mother.

Melissandra smiled indulgently. “Why not? We are a family again for the first time in a long time- I can think of no other time to celebrate.”

Braccius smiled at Tahlie. “Do you have a present for me, Tallinda?”

Tahlie tried to smile, tried to stop crying. “I will buy you as many presents as you desire, Braccius. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

She stood up and offered her hand to the toddler. He eyed her suspiciously for a moment before placing his tiny hand in her palm. The feeling was so wonderful that she closed her eyes, overwhelmed with emotion.

“Together at last,” Melissandra said, laughing gaily as she came to put her arm around her shoulders. “Just the way it was meant to be. A family at last.”

Tahlie smiled, near fit to bursting from the joy she felt at that moment. The only thing that dimmed the sparkle in her eyes was the feeling that someone was missing.

“ _Anders…_ ” she whispered. No one heard her, so she followed Braccius as he tugged her towards the front door.


	19. Chapter 19

_Several months later_

Anders stared at the grim black cliffs rising on the horizon, clinging to the ship’s railing as if his life depended on it. The sea was remarkably calmer than it had been over the last few days; that didn’t make his stomach any less queasy. He didn’t know whether to respect the men and women who made their life on the seas, or write them off as madmen. 

But then, given the events of the last week, most people would declare him a madman in a heartbeat. 

He rubbed absently at his chest, feeling the guilt eating away at him and trying to pretend it was just seasickness. He knew without a doubt that he had done the right thing- he had helped a friend in need, and in doing so had gained a powerful weapon to fight back against the injustices wrought against his fellow mages. Some would call him an abomination. _Most_ , he corrected. And there was blood on his hands that had not been there a week earlier, blood from men and women he had once counted as comrades. Not friends; never friends. But people who had stood at his side and defended him up until the moment he had… _turned_.

The memory of the anger and the fear in their words, the senseless bias and wild accusations, roused the spirit within him and he bit his tongue until his emotions dimmed and his sense of outrage subsided. The need for justice retreated until he was himself again, with a mouth full of blood that he spat over the side of the ship. 

He listed their names in his head, the only memorial he could allow himself for those he had slaughtered. Denril. Rolan. Mariken. Reven. Samuel. And then there was the Templars. Them, he did not mourn; their deaths he celebrated. They had conspired with Rolan to cage him; they sought to cage _all_ mages. And they had threatened Tahlie. None of those were to be borne. Their deaths were acceptable, the first shots in the war he was only just beginning to wage. 

The cliffs grew larger in the distance, a dark blight on the horizon, and he could make out vague figures carved into the cliff face. Over the next few hours he began to make out more details as the ship sailed closer. Giant, emaciated figures, hands clawing at their faces in a perpetual agonised wail that would never be given voice. Thick, ancient chains hung against the rock, the links wider than the girth of any man or woman. 

Kirkwall. City of Chains.

It seemed as good a place as any for a murderous ex-Warden apostate to hide as any other. The stories of the crowded streets, choked with Ferelden refugees seeking shelter from the Blight that had torn their homeland apart, had made the city seem like a haven for someone seeking to disappear. And if anyone ever needed to disappear, it was him.

The ship docked several hours later at the foot of the Gallows, the hideous slaver pen that masqueraded as an appropriate building for housing the mages of Kirkwall. He gritted his teeth, his body becoming tenser the closer they drew to that abomination. There was a miasma of fear and shame about the whole area, a possible remnant from the days of slavery that carried over into the forced imprisonment that the mages suffered through. It was as if they had chosen the Gallows _deliberately_ , a sneering reminder of the fate in store for anyone unfortunate enough to be born with a connection to the Fade. A life of incarceration in a towering edifice built to contain people whose life was once for sale; now it housed those whose life was considered worthless. 

Inside him, Justice snapped and snarled, pushing at his will and trying to break free to purge the injustices before them. His chest felt tight, as if iron bands were tightening around him, and he struggled to breathe for a moment. He glanced at his hand, seeing the snaking lines of cerulean burning against his flesh and hastily tucked his fist inside his robe and lowered his head. How appropriate it would be to have fled the Wardens and the Ferelden Circle only to be captured by the most fanatical branch of the Templars in all of Thedas. The ship bumped against the docks with a jarring thud; he staggered back from the railing, struggling to stay on his feet. A few of the sailors looked over at him and smirked and he bit his tongue to keep from retaliating. _Maker_ , things that wouldn’t have bothered him a year ago had him snarling like a caged beast now. 

_Must correct injustices,_ he heard faintly inside his head. _Must fight…_

Only a week later, and Justice’s voice was so faint, becoming not so much a distinct personality inside of him as just a series of instincts and impulses. He felt the anger and the frustration from the spirit as it railed about violently, but it was only the emotions he felt, not the conscious thoughts that drove them. That he had roused enough to speak directly spoke of how greatly the Gallows offended him.

Anders waited impatiently as the gangway was lowered to the dock, his meagre satchel of belongings already slung across his shoulder. He had not had the luxury of stopping to collect his effects: he only had the few things he’d been carrying on patrol that day. Well, his things and the handful of possessions that Justice had considered his own. It didn’t seem right to leave those behind. 

Stepping onto the docks, Anders felt his legs waiver under him as the swaying he had grown accustomed to on the ship stopped abruptly. He gathered himself, trying not to look like a fool or draw attention to himself. The whole point of choosing Kirkwall was that he hoped to blend in; the fact that no sane mage would ever willingly flee to a city with such fanatical Templars would hopefully only increase his chances of staying hidden.

He followed the swarm of other refugees along the length of the docks, well aware of the prison looming overhead and trying not to look at it. Every step he took closer to it had Justice howling in frustration, and he stuffed his hand into his pockets, hoping desperately that his eyes wouldn’t give him away.

At the foot of the stairs, a line of harassed soldiers stood holding back the mass of people, pushing back those who were too aggressive in their attempts to make it past. There was shouting and shoving, and he heard someone crying.

“Alright, you lot, back it on up.” One of the soldiers was standing on a crate and trying to get the attention of the crowd. “Yelling is only gonna make it worse, so everyone just calm down. Ain’t no one leaving this here dock- ‘cept on another boat.”

His words incensed the crowd, invoking panic as they tried to push their way through. “You can’t send us back!” someone yelled. “We’ve got nothing to go back to! The Blight saw to that!”

“And Kirkwall has nothing to offer you,” the guard said in an overly patient tone that said he’d been through this argument a thousand times already. “The Blight is _over_ and we don’t have room for any more of you Fereldans. So you can just wait here, get back on that boat and go back to your own damned country.”

“But we’re refugees!”

“There’s no war in Ferelden, so you’ve got no need to seek refuge. This matter is not up for discussion.”

The dock erupted in angry shouts and bitter sobs as everyone fought to have their say, pushing against the guardsmen until they were forced to draw their swords in warning. Watching the emotional display from the back of the crowd, Anders felt Justice stirring even further. It was like his skin was stretching, trying to contain the force of him.

_It’s not right. They seek peace and safety for their families. They should not be met with aggression and disdain._

_It’s not our place to intervene here._

Anders dropped his satchel down by his feet and leant against the harbour wall, waiting for the worst of the arguments to die down before making his own attempt to get into the city. The guardsman who had spoken earlier glanced at him before saying tersely, “Yes? And what’s your sob story?”

He steeled himself, lifting his chin a notch as he tried to look confident. “I am a Grey Warden from the Ferelden order, recently of Vigils Keep. I am here on official Warden business.” The lie came easy, after practising it constantly on the trip across the sea.

The guard snorted rudely. “Oh, but of course. ‘Cause you certainly aren’t the first one to try that little line. Don’t you have anything original at all?” 

Anticipating the reaction, Anders handed the guard the papers that each Warden carried any time they left the Keep. The note was succinct and the man paled as he glanced at the terse message. “Is this really written by _her?_ The Hero, I mean?”

“Well, she’s the only Commander I have,” Anders said, ignoring the fierce stab of guilt in his gut at the mention of Defira. She still had a month and a half left until she bore her babe, and to abandon her now made him feel like the most callous, cold-hearted wretch that ever lived. It was entirely possible that Alistair had already commandeered an entire platoon of healers from the Tower to watch over her, but still- he hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t told her what he’d planned. For all he knew, she probably thought he was dead. She had been the truest friend he had ever had, and the thought that she might be mourning him even now made his heart wither.

The guardsman looked torn, looking from the order to allow safe passage to the bearer and then to the crowd at Anders’ back. He sighed. “Maker, but this isn’t going to go down well. Alright, Warden, you can go through. Just show these to Lieutenant Jervaine up in the Gallows square. He’ll make sure you get sent through to the city as soon as possible.” He gestured to the other guards to stand aside. The moment Anders stepped through the darkened archway and headed for the stairs he heard the outcry behind him.

“Hey! How come he gets to go through and we don’t?”

“I have children! You can’t treat children like this!”

“You are monsters! _Monsters_ , you hear me!”

Justice growled. _They are desperate! They need someone to fight for them._

Anders fought the urge to roll his eyes. Clearly Justice could make himself heard well enough if something fascinated him enough. Maybe he’d only been so quiet on the journey over because he’d been seasick himself. _And if we cause a scene now, we’ll be captured by the Templars faster than we can blink. And then we’ll either be killed, or made Tranquil. Does that appeal at all? Never touching the Fade again?_

He could have sworn he heard the spirit whimper, and he caught a flash of longing accompanied by an image that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Tahlie, her arms around his waist- _Justice’s_ waist, he corrected- smiling at him and comforting him as he felt the Fade singing to him from within her blood. For Justice, the image was soft and treasured, a memory of a friend and the gift she offered him; for Anders, the image was immediately sensual, able to feel her arms around him as if it were his own memory and lost in the sparkle in her eyes. He paused in the dark stairwell, a hand to the wall to steady himself as he felt his blood surge from desire.

Tahlie was lost to him, long since flown to Tevinter at the prompting of her sister. The bitterness had faded over the months, but the desperate yearning had never waned. Now, even if she changed her mind and returned to Ferelden, they would tell her he was dead, or that he was a murderer who had fled to parts unknown. It was better this way: Tahlie was safe with her family, away from the dark demands of the life of a Warden, and he was free to wage war against the Templars without worrying that the repercussions would fall onto her. 

It was better this way. His mantra, his desperate chant, and the only thing that kept him from running all the way to Tevinter to find her.

He emerged into the courtyard before the Gallows and paused to take in the sheer monstrosity of the place. The silently screaming icons were repeated again, not carved from black slate like their fellows on the cliffs, but instead fashioned from bronze and mounted upon marble platforms. They were joined by cruel masters, forcing them to grovel in subservience. His lip curled in disgust; surely, in the hundreds of years since the Tevinter slavers had been cast from this place, someone might have found it appropriate to remove the evidence of their cruelty? Or was it a perverted attempt to cow the mages trapped within, reminding them daily that they were little more than slaves to their Templar masters? Justice hissed in fury and for once Anders found himself in agreement with the spirit.

The courtyard bore further travesties: he considered stopping to restock from one of the many vendors lining the square and recoiled in horror when he realised they were manned by Tranquil. Their dead eyes passed over him, as if his reaction to them was perfectly ordinary; glancing hurriedly over his shoulder, he breathed a sigh of relief when nobody seemed to take note of his behaviour. 

Heading towards the docks that held the ferry boats, he held his breath when he realised several Templars lounged in the shade of the portcullis, obviously guarding the entrance into the mages’ domain. He considered himself safely in the clear until he heard a barked order from behind him and the three Templars snapped to attention. Watching them out of the corner of his eye, not slowing his pace in case it drew their notice, he felt his blood freeze when a rather familiar Templar stormed past him and began to berate the Knights for their posture and their armour and their attitude, and Maker curse it all, he was going to have to walk _right past him_.

Cullen. The blasted idiot had been in the Ferelden Circle last he’d heard. Granted, he hadn’t seen him in several years- not since before they dragged him away to solitary confinement actually. He’d heard rumours of him going mad after Uldred’s attack on the Tower; clearly those stories were exaggerated, seeing that he seemed hale and hearty right now. Trying to look nonchalant, he walked past at a steady pace, trying to draw as little attention as possible from the one person in this whole blasted city who might recognise him and ruin his escape.

“Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?” Cullen said in an authoritative tone; the sound of someone used to giving orders that were obeyed instantly.

“Yes, Knight Captain,” they intoned as one.

 _Andraste’s tits!_ Not only a threat to his anonymity, but also second in command of the Templars. Just his luck, really. 

Somehow, the Maker seemed to take pity on him, and Cullen turned away without noticing him; Anders breathed a sigh of relief and continued down the steps towards the small dock. On the opposite side of the harbour, Kirkwall sat like a stain on the skirts of Sundermount, the mountain crag rising up towards the clouds. Fixing a stern expression on his face, he approached the soldiers near the closest berth, saying, “Who can tell me where to find Lieutenant Jervaine?”

***

Night was falling on the city as he wandered through the layered, twisting streets of Kirkwall, hopelessly lost and utterly overwhelmed but amazed at every turn. How could so many people live in such squalid conditions, while so few lived in such opulence? How did anyone manage to get around this blasted city without having the thighs of an ogre? He hadn’t even explored a fraction of Kirkwall and already his legs were burning with the exertion of climbing so many flights of stairs. He hadn’t always been fit, but he liked to think that his time with the Wardens had given him a certain amount of stamina and strength- at the very least the taint should have helped. Instead he leant against walls, wheezing desperately for air while the locals brushed past him with amused expressions on their faces. 

Eventually he found an inn, a curious affair with a giant effigy of a man strung up by his feet hanging over the door. Inside the air was smoky and the room was crowded; he heard enough Fereldan accents to feel at home as he edged his way over to the bar. He had just put his hand up to catch the barkeep’s attention when he felt Justice surge forward to take control. His hand slammed back onto the counter top.

 _No drinking,_ the spirit said firmly.

Anders blinked. _I’m sorry, but that’s not something you get to decide. I’m tired and I’m thirsty, and I’m going to have a drink._

He lifted his hand an inch or two before it dropped forcefully back onto the bar. _No drinking,_ Justice repeated. _In my presence, you swore that you would never imbibe ever again. I am helping you to keep that oath._

Stunned, it took a few seconds for his meaning to become clear. _That… that was months ago! And I was hung over, I didn’t mean what I was saying. Besides, I’ve gotten drunk since then!_

 _Indeed,_ Justice said grimly, _and on those occasions, I had no control over your actions. Now that we must cooperate in all things, I must insist that you honour your promise._

Nearly throwing his hands up in the air in disgust, Anders turned away from the bar and stared around the room. He didn’t have enough coin for a room, so it seemed an appropriate time to consider his next move- namely, what he was going to do now that he had successfully vanished from Ferelden.

Nearby, he heard a conversation reaching a fever pitch; one of the men lurched drunkenly to his feet, his chair tipping over backwards behind him. “’n I’m sayin’ that stupid refugee centre jus’ makes things worse,” he shouted, his words slurred so badly that Anders had trouble making out what he was saying. “Jus’ reinforces th’ stereotype, y’see? Tha’ we’re all bludgers who need a hand out. People nee’a jus’ get a job ‘n stop whinging. Then them Marchers’d stop harpin’ on at us.”

His antagonist, an equally drunk fellow by the looks of things, jumped to his feet as well, reaching across the table to grab the man by the front of his shirt. “An’ you don’t know wha’ you’re talkin’ bout. ‘S helping those that can’t help themselves. Doing the Maker’s work, they are.”

Their argument quickly escalated to a fight, and the occupants of the bar lost interest in them quickly as they rolled about drunkenly on the floor, throwing wild punches. Anders turned away from them at the same time as the man beside him, and for a moment they made eye contact. The man nodded politely and began to move away but Anders grabbed him by the arm and quickly said, “Sorry, but what centre were they fighting about?”

“New to town, are you?” Anders nodded and the man took a swig of his drink. “There’s a place not too far from here, helps Ferelden refugees. They collect donations- money, food, clothes, the usual- and hand it out to those that are struggling. They’ll probably still be there, if you hurry.”

Justice surged forward. _We can help._

Thinking of the desperate people on the docks and the desolate faces that he had seen around Kirkwall today, Anders had to agree. Calling out his thanks, he hurried for the door and pushed his way through the streets to the address the man had given him. There was a small crowd outside the door; it was worse inside the building. A harried looking woman was directing things from a cluttered desk while people surged backwards and forwards, begging for aid and assistance on all manner of things while the handful of volunteers struggled to help them all. More often than not people left with less than what they had hoped for. Waiting for a lull in the crowd, he finally found his chance and stepped quickly to the front of the queue.

“Yes?” The woman said, wiping tired hands on her apron as she scrutinised him closely. “You don’t look that hard up, what is it you’re looking to get? We’re not an open money purse, you know.”

“I’m not here for a handout,” he said, smiling cheerfully. “I’m here to help.”

*** 

Darktown was disgusting, a crowded, sweltering maze of narrow tunnels filled with the desperate and the dangerous. He fit in perfectly. He stood in the partially collapsed mine entrance, spinning slowly to look at the whole space. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing in this wretched city was. He let his imagination go to work, placing beds and supplies and lanterns, counting the cost of each item that he placed on the imaginary shelves.

He turned back to Lukas, one of the volunteers from the centre who’d told him about the site in first place. “It’s perfect,” he said, grinning suddenly at the excitement he and Justice both shared. From here, they could help the poor and the desperate. From here, they could help the mages running from Templar attention. From here, they could start anew, trying to make up for the sins in their past. “Let’s go back and tell the others,” he said, clapping Lukas on the shoulder. “We’ve got a clinic to set up.”

 _Tahlindra would be proud of you,_ Justice said solemnly.

Anders grinned, the expression softer than it had been a moment ago. _She would be proud of_ us, _Justice. Not just me._

_One day, we will show her the great works we have achieved._

His smile slowly died. _One day, Justice,_ he agreed, not believing it in the slightest. _One day._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the nitrous oxide parties of the 19th century.

Tahlie stared about at the depravity and indulgence going on around her uneasily, fidgeting with the revealing gown that Melissandra had assured her was perfectly acceptable for the soiree she was hosting. Turning towards the wall slightly so that her actions would hopefully go unnoticed, she hooked her hands into the top of the diaphanous robe and pulled upwards, trying to get the wretched thing to sit higher across her chest. Of course, it then meant that quite a large portion of her thighs were showing instead- she simply couldn’t win. She had never exposed so much flesh before in her life, but by the looks of the other women in attendance at the party, she was actually dressed conservatively. At least if she stayed in the shadows along the edges of the room her dress seemed to be a solid block of colour; when she stepped into the light, her curves were immediately visible through the gauzy fabric. And the outrageous fashion wasn’t even the most appalling part of the evening. Really, the dress should have been the first warning sign as to what the evening was going to hold for her.

A _lyrium_ party. It sounded so ridiculous, but as she watched from her almost hiding place on the upstairs balcony, Tahlie could see exactly how seriously Meli and her friends took the idea. She had been offered lyrium in both liquid and powered form by the elfish servants who were wandering about in nothing more than luminescent body paint. Meli’s guests were indulging outrageously, giggling and drinking and pleasuring one another in plain view of everyone else. 

Tahlie didn’t know what to think. Melissandra had introduced her to everyone as they came through and she had done her best not to stare. There were two other magisters in attendance, one of whom had his wife on one arm and his mistress on the other. The two women even seemed perfectly comfortable with each other. Glancing about the room, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. _More_ than comfortable, if that was truly the two of them entwined together on a divan in the centre of the room. As she stared, one of the women pulled away long enough to slide her gown down to her waist before returning to her lover. 

The other guests had all seemed equally important and were all just as depraved. A man that Meli had introduced as a Chantry priest was lying passed out on the floor, blood snaking from his nose from the burn of the lyrium he had inhaled. Several people were dancing erratically to the music provided by a quartet of naked slaves, giggling as they swayed before falling over, climbing to their feet and repeating the process. Tahlie had fled to the balcony when the Captain of the City Guard had tried repeatedly to put his hands _inside_ her dress, or grabbed at her in vastly intimate places. Only one person had ever touched her there and she had no intention of letting an inebriated stranger join his place in her memories.

And Melissandra was holding court over all of them like some wanton queen, imbibing liberally while she gave and received pleasure from her guests. Her gown was a more scandalous version of the one Tahlie wore, only shamefully translucent- when the light from the chandeliers caught her at the right angle, it looked as if she wore ropes of diamonds and nothing else. The radiant body paint that was traced in sensual whorls on the bodies of the slaves also adorned her face, a tawdry mimic of the tattoos the wild Dalish still wore. Tahlie turned away in disgust, tears in her eyes, when she saw Melissandra crook her finger in invitation to Ambrose, the City Captain who had slipped his pinching fingers inside her dress earlier.

There were enough dark nooks and curtained alcoves for her to find a private place to wipe the tears from her face. She shook herself, straightening her shoulders as she took several deep breaths to try and centre herself. Looking down, she saw silver paint smeared across her palms, glowing slightly, and sighed. Clearly the body paint was not meant to withstand tears; a cynical part of her wondered how they expected it to stand up against sweat, for she had seen the slaves dragged from their duties several times tonight for what she could only assume was for sex.

She sighed, her head resting against the wall as for what felt like the millionth time she wondered what in Andraste’s name she was doing there. She had been in Marnus Pell for nearly half a year now; the novelty had most assuredly worn off. In the beginning, it had been beyond even her wildest imaginings: Melissandra had been attentive and loving, and they had spent days acting like a family should. They played games with the children, and took them shopping in the Imperial Plaza, a decadent marketplace that seemed larger than the whole of Gwaren. Melissandra had stayed up talking with her late into the small hours of the morning, night after night, and had consulted her on even the most trivial of matters. It made her feel important, like she was an essential part of the family.

Everything had changed when Melissandra announced that she had to resume her administrative duties in preparation for the coming political season. She departed for the Assembly early in the morning, usually before Tahlie was even awake, and arrived home very late at night. Somewhat at a loss as to what to do without her, Tahlie tried and failed to amuse herself. Strangely enough, she found herself immensely bored- after having spent all her days since the age of twelve working in some capacity or another to support herself, it was decidedly odd being able to sit about all day with nothing to do. She couldn’t read, so the library was useless to her, and the servants- she couldn’t bring herself to call them slaves- panicked every time she tried to be useful around the house. The last time she’d wandered into the kitchen to help with dinner, she’d been forcefully removed by two of the kitchen hands after the cook started hyperventilating. She’d gone to the Plaza again a few times, but without Meli there with her it felt wrong to spend money that she had not helped to earn. Likewise, while Meli had raved about the culture of the city, Tahlie didn’t have the right sensibilities to enjoy an art gallery, and the Imperial Library was right out of the question.

So she grew bored and frustrated by her lack of activity, and the doubts began to creep into her head. Was the life the Wardens asked of her really that terrible? She thought that some of them might have warmed enough towards her for her to call them friends. And then there was Anders, of course…

Braccius and Aloesia were her single shining light in Tevinter, the only thing that stopped her from packing her bags every morning and setting off for Ferelden. The children were adorable, and her heart melted every time she looked down to see Braccius’ beautiful little face beaming up at her. Her sister was so busy with her duties as a Magister that most of their care was left to what seemed like a brigade of nurses; Tahlie was determined to step in and see that they received the loving care they so deserved, since their mother was unable to do so. She found their manners disappointing, but it was only to be expected- their every whim was indulged instantly by their carers, and Tahlie herself was hard pressed not to succumb to their charms or placate their tantrums. And if she sometimes found herself staring at Braccius wistfully, dreaming of a little blond haired boy of her own with his father’s whiskey coloured eyes, at least she could placate herself that no one knew of her silly little daydreams.

After all, she was a Warden: tainted forever, and unable to become a mother. And no matter how much she missed him and longed for him to burst through the door and sweep her into his arms, she knew Anders would not come for her. Perhaps they had been doomed from the start, each looking for something that the other could not provide. Tahlie wanted a family, a home and love. Anders wanted… well, she wasn’t really sure what he wanted anymore. It _might_ have been her- his pleas had certainly seemed heartfelt, that night in the graveyard and when she thought back on it she thought his claim that he loved her might almost have been genuine. 

A particularly loud squeal broke her from her musings and she looked down at the party below her, trying not to let her disgust show on her face. Maker save her if Meli should catch her sneering at her esteemed guests.

Really, though, what else could she do but disapprove of this foolish decadence? It went against everything she believed in. The few servants she had managed to partially befriend- that is, those she could have a stilted conversation with before they ran from the room in a panic- told her there was nothing unusual about a lyrium party. It was considered a normal social gathering for those in the upper echelons of Tevinter society; while not everyone indulged themselves, everyone made sure to be seen at one.

A shadow fell across her hiding place and she glanced up from spying on the party. Melissandra stood beside her, hair rumbled and dress askew while she grinned dreamily, a half empty glass of lyrium in her hand. This close, Tahlie could see that her face wasn’t the only place that Meli had artfully applied the body paint, although the symbols on her thighs had been smeared so badly that the only thing that stood out with any certainty was a hand print on each leg, the fingers pressed outrageously high.

“Tahlie, darling,” she began, then giggled. Her eyes were glazed. “Ambrose tells me you’ve been awfully frigid tonight; he says you were quite rude when all he was trying to do was be friendly.” She broke off into fits of giggles, sounding more like a girl than a woman at that point.

Tahlie sighed and leant on the balustrade so she wouldn’t have to look at Melissandra while she made a fool of herself. “I’m not interesting in whoring myself for your friends, Meli,” she said, her skin crawling as she remembered his hands on her. “I don’t think it’s fair to call me frigid for that.”

“Oh, Tahlie sweetheart, of course not,” she crooned, slumping beside her and wrapping an arm around her tightly. “I know you’re not frigid. You’ve fucked Anders, after all, and he was a _deviant_ in the Tower. If he even got you to do half the things I heard of him doing with all the other girls, you’re well past frigid. Loose even.”

Horrified, she felt her face flaming as she tried not to immediately envision the things Mel said. Of course Anders had been with other women before her- it wasn’t like he’d made a great secret of it. But knowing that and having it thrown in her face were two different things. And did that really just make her another notch on the bedpost, another conquest for a man apparently renowned for his wandering eye? Did people really look at her and wonder what ‘things’ she’d been coerced into doing behind the bedroom door? “What do you want, Mel?” she choked, trying not to burst into irrational tears. This was, without a doubt, the worst day so far. A ridiculous thought flitted through her mind- _give me a darkspawn over Meli any day, because at least I’ll know what the cursed thing wants from me!_

“Come down to the party, dear one,” Mel said, placing a less than chaste kiss on her cheek. She tried to pull away, but her sister’s grip tightened to steel on her arm. She felt horrified as Mel, at the prompting of the guests below who had spotted her performance and were screaming in delight, ran her tongue down the side of her face, stopping just before she reached her lips. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my guests,” she whispered, running her hands through Tahlie’s hair the same way a lover would. “Come down to the party, and make friends, or I might just get angry at you. Understand?” 

Enough was enough. “ _Don’t touch me_ , Mel,” she snarled, ripping herself out of her sister’s debauched embrace. Her entire body was on fire from the shame and loathing she felt at that moment. “I left a good man to follow you. He might not have been perfect, but I won’t sully his memory by being a good little whore for you. I’ll be in my room- _alone_.”

She didn’t even see Mel move, not even a twitch of the fingers, but suddenly she was on the floor writhing in agony as the most intense pain she had ever experienced shredded through her. She tried to find the breath to scream, but even that was beyond her. In all probability it only lasted for a handful of seconds, but it seemed to stretch into eternity. When Melissandra ended the torment with a flick of the wrist, Tahlie lay gasping on the plush carpets, certain that entire decades had passed while she was trapped in that hell. Agonised tears marred her vision, but looking at Mel looming above her, she knew that her twin was far less inebriated than she had previously assumed.

“I’m not running a charity, darling Tahlie,” she said in the sweetest of tones; all hint of a slur was gone from her voice. Had it all been an act? “If you want to continue leeching off my generosity, you should probably consider exactly how you mean to repay me. Since you own nothing which I have not provided for you, the only option open to you is to use your body. Now, there are several very important people in that room who are all quite desperate to make your acquaintance. I suggest you smile, dust yourself off and go and do _everything_ that they ask you to do.” 

Tahlie found the strength from somewhere to scrabble backwards, finding her feet with difficulty before sprinting in the opposite direction. The attack that she expected never came, and she tore through the darkened hallways like the Void itself was yawning open to devour her. She fell through her bedroom door, sobbing for air, before her common sense returned and she locked the door behind her. Not satisfied, she dragged the bureau in front of the door knob, wedging it firmly under the handle. The brass scraped deep grooves into the glossy wooden top, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she used the damned thing anyway- how was she going to write letters to anyone when she couldn’t write?

She wiped her eyes, wincing when they burned; looking down at her hands, she saw they were covered in the luminescent paint and her fingertips glowed in the low light of the fire. She looked from her hands to the lavish room around her, seeing for the first time how much of a prison it was. She was so desperately dependent on Mel for everything, and her options were tragically limited if her sister decided her presence was too much of a nuisance. 

She walked dazedly towards the bathroom, halting when her reflection caught her attention. She really did look like a whore, with her kohl lined eyes and blood red lips. That was without even considering the suggestive paint and see through gown. How had she not seen it earlier? It didn’t matter that Mel was dressed even worse, or that the other female guests had happily divested themselves of their clothing when the need arose. She was _no man’s_ doxy, and the fact that Mel expected her to comply so easily hurt her deeply. 

She stared at herself in the looking glass, wondering if this was how Anders had seen her. Did he see an easy target, a woman he could use as he saw fit? He’d screamed that he loved her; if that were true, what would he say if he saw her dressed up like this? Despite herself, or maybe because of the events of the evening, she imagined what it would be like if he were to walk in behind her; his eyes would widen in surprise and then would flood with heat, burning a path across every inch of her bared skin. His smile would start slowly, becoming more devious the more he stared. Her entire body flared with need and the phantom at her back only smiled and set her aflame with his eyes. 

Tahlie moaned and closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. Here she was, working herself into a tizzy and she had no one to help her take the edge off. She laughed mirthlessly- she had plenty of people who wanted to _help_ her. She had no doubt that were she to go downstairs in her present state, any number of Melissandra’s guests would be on her in seconds.

Feeling lightheaded, she rinsed her face quickly in the wash basin and drifted back to the bedroom, shucking the despicable dress as she went and leaving it in a gossamer puddle on the floor. She crept into bed clad only in the remaining body paint. The dizzy feeling grew, creeping down her neck and spreading into her limbs with a warmth that was somewhat similar to getting drunk. At first she was amused and perplexed; then when the pressure exploded in her head she gasped.

She had felt it twice before. The first time when Rolan had threatened to kill Anders, and the second time when she had faced the darkspawn by herself after his rejection of her. On neither occasion had she told anyone the truth, and she had hoped they were just anomalies. But the pressure grew and grew, stronger than any headache; she felt hollow yet she felt fit to burst at the same time. 

Just like on the other two occasions, the sensation grew until it was too much, and she blacked out.

***

She came back to herself hours later, in the predawn murk of another wretched day. Her awareness came back in bits, and the first thing she noticed was how… sated she felt. The lethargy in her limbs was so delightful; the room smelled of sex. She froze and came fully awake instantly, flailing into a sitting position.

She was alone, the bureau still firmly in front of the door. The sheets beneath her, once luxurious silk, were shredded as if by claws and teeth. Looking around the room slowly, she saw the violence that had been wrought upon the room: broken furniture, claw marks in the walls, the shredded sheets. And thick in the air was the smell of sex and sweat and desire. 

It was just the same as before. The mages sent to experiment on her all those months ago had warned her, whispering quickly when the Templars were out of earshot. She had been exposed to too much, far too much, and now the door to the Fade sat open within her permanently. The risk was, of course, that with stronger emotions the lure was too enthralling for any demon: a way out of the Fade, and with the most delicious fears and desires to feast upon in the meantime. She had told no one, and the mages had kept their tongues as well. The first time, she had no idea what had happened. The second time, she had let the door fly wide open willingly, her last sight being the darkspawn rushing towards her. When she came back to herself they had been in unrecognisable pieces at her feet. 

Something had come through, had used her body for its own purposes, before the effort to escape the dream realm had become too much and she had gained control again. The first two times, she had welcomed the intervention. Now something had crept through again and she couldn’t really admit to being happy about it.

Sleep did not come to her again; how could she sleep in a room that had caged a demon so very recently? As she sat there, cringing in the murky light of dawn as the violent evidence of the creature became visible, she realised her greatest fear had come to life and it was no longer what Melissandra might do to her in her anger. If she couldn’t control herself, if she let her emotions get the better of her like they did last night- terror and fury and desire all clashing within her in a furious maelstrom- then she was open to their attacks. The demons would find her and they would use her as they pleased.

She was an abomination after all. And she wasn’t even a mage.


End file.
